


Come What May

by cluelesspaladin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, BANG FIC, But there is a happy ending of sorts, Christian!Hunk, Emotional Manipulation, Everyone Is Gay, Historical AU, Humor, Hunk is divorced, Hunk works in a kitchen, Hunk writes poetry/fiction, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/No Comfort, Investor!Sendak, Keith and Hunk are so soft god bless them, Lotor isn't a bad guy AU, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Moulin Rouge AU, Narti is somehow everyone's therapist, No Canon Happy Ending, Non-con touching, Orphan Keith, Pidge has a dance/acting troupe, Satine!Keith, Some Graphic Violence, Temporary Character Death, Written for the VLD Angst Bang, Zarkon owns the Moulin Rouge, allusions to non-con but nothing happens on screen, brief allusions to sexual content, but also not really, dark themes, historically incorrect AU, references to alcoholism, references to past abuse, shiro is a disaster gay, shiro is keith's bodyguard, there's a cat involved in here, we don't ask questions, you don't need to know Moulin Rouge to read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22029664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cluelesspaladin/pseuds/cluelesspaladin
Summary: The crossdressing seductress known as Le Chat Noir and the humble, promising chef Tsuyoshi “Hunk” Garret are as different as night and day. One running from his past and looking to a new future, the other caught in a circle of the underworld and the bounty it brings. Naturally, they should never have met- except they did. Now, Keith is beginning to realize that simply surviving each day is different than living it, and Hunk slowly begins to explore his own interests outside of his past life. But of course, the story won’t end like this. Amidst the preparations for a new “Spectacular, Spectacular”, the pieces of the puzzle begin to move into place. Keith is keeping secrets, desperate to cling to the first moments of happiness for what could be the first time in his life while shielding Hunk from the world he lives in. Lotor and his Ladies of the Night are fighting a new battle against a formidable foe, and Hunk begins to find joy in the things he thought lost. All the while, the Moulin Rouge quickly proves that there is more than meets the eye… and much to be discovered behind its doors.
Relationships: Axca/Lotor, Ezor/Zethrid, Ezor/Zethrid/Narti, Hunk/Keith (Voltron), Lance/Pidge, Lotor/Axca/Zethrid/Narti/Ezor, Matt/Lance/Shiro
Kudos: 9
Collections: VLD Angst Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to what is quite possibly the most self indulgent, angsty mess of a rarepair fic that I've ever written! 
> 
> I've been itching to write a Moulin Rouge fic for months. So naturally, finding an angst bang to participate in gave me the perfect opportunity! Not only that, but I was working with two very talented artists who I am very grateful to have worked with. They dealt with me so very well. 
> 
> InklingDancer can be found [HERE](https://inklingdancer.tumblr.com/) or [HERE](https://twitter.com/inklingdancer?s=09%22)  
> Cookie can be found [HERE](https://twitter.com/fantasywalking?s=09)
> 
> If you have a moment, check them out! They are both extremely talented, wonderful people!

“The greatest thing you ever learn, is just to love, and be loved in return.”

-

_The Moulin Rouge._

_A night club. A dance hall and a bordello… ruled over by Lotor and his Ladies of the Night. Four women with the influence to reign in those who would intrude upon their territory, each uncommon in their beauty and ruthless in their core._

_A kingdom of nighttime pleasures, where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld._

_The most beautiful of all of these was the man I loved. Keith. A courtesan. Who sold his affections to men. The star of the Moulin Rouge known as Le Chat Noir. Who danced like the most graceful of birds yet held his heart close to his chest._

_The man I loved is dead._

* * *

There is something to being left alone with one’s thoughts from time to time.

Then again, perhaps a failed marriage and an attempt to find his feet again were not the circumstances that Tsuyoshi Garret had expected himself. Certainly not whilst living out of a single battered suitcase, barely enough money in his pockets to pay the rent for the modest room of the hotel and his only companion a lonely typewriter discarded by some lost soul who had come before him.

Perhaps it was fate, finding himself seated before it in the twilight hours, heavy hands putting his thoughts to yellowed paper with soothing staccato, the odd key sticking beneath his thumbs.

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. The yellow tie he had found pulled the long strands into a low tail- something of a rebellion to the ideals his former husband had so thoroughly pursued. He hoped, despite the time that he had been with him, that he would not have to see the man again. The past in the past, he told himself.

An average life, and for a time he had loved the man. Despite his reservations, they had wed and lived together for nearly two years. Never mind that they were two men. Never mind that even with the ideals of the bohemian revolution and the newfound openness of men marrying men, it was still not done. Not to the extent of commonplace acceptance.

Which was likely the reason the aforementioned marriage had failed- the moment he had signed the divorce papers he had cut all ties and moved to France. In the midst of the Bohemian Revolution, no less. For him, it had appealed in the moment, but living out of pocket and bringing in barely enough to afford the rend was beginning to look much less excellent in the reality of things.

He groaned, reaching for the glass of cheap whisky he’d poured himself hours before, sipping it with a grimace. His work- cheap labor in a factory in the next district- kept him busy, but his heart was dissatisfied and he found himself restless in the lonely evenings.

“You certainly make a fine mess of yourself, Hunk.”

“Hello to you too, Pidge.”

He wasn’t terribly surprised that she’d managed to come in unannounced, instead tipping the glass back and finishing the rest of the whisky before turning to glance over to his guest.

Katherine Marie Holt was an odd creature both in nature and definition. She scorned the role her gender provided, constantly challenging those she came across and baffling those were too small minded to appreciate the utter chaos that was her beautiful mind.

They had met by coincidence and by rather odd circumstances. She owned the flat above his own, and had been doing a casting call with her troupe on behalf of some venue or other when one of the floorboards collapsed beneath one of the actors, sending the man and Pidge straight down into his room. After several apologies and wheezed greetings, she had apparently claimed him as one of her own and that was the end of that. Somewhere along the way, she had dubbed him with the nickname of “Hunk”.

Beautiful, chaotic mind indeed.

Despite the elegance of her full name, Pidge showed great distaste for it, shunning it and reserving the title only for those she considered familial relations. The name Pidge had been coined as a child by her elder brother, who noted her pigeon tendencies. Obviously, the name had stuck into adulthood.

She squinted at the empty glass as it clinked back onto the table, hazel eyes bright behind the giant spectacles she wore without lenses. (He had tried inquiring about it once, but she had shrugged and changed the topic).

“What have you been working on?”

He shrugged. “Just putting words on paper.”

“Words on paper, hm?” Waltzing over, tiny hands plucked the sheet of half written thoughts and rambling from his typewriter before he could stop her, bespectacled gaze devouring his words with a speed that was almost frightening.

“Are you even reading that?” he sighed, propping his chin on a broad palm, watching her features. He didn’t know why she always found his words so interesting when it was simply the way of organizing his cluttered mind after the long days of work.

“I am.” She made a face at him that was distinctly that of a younger sibling. “And Hunk, this is beautiful. It’s a different experience every time I read your work.”

She pushed her glasses further up her nose as a considering look crossed her face. “I wonder if I might one day convince you to help me write my play- I’m positive that it would make _history_.”

Hunk made a face. The idea of pursuing writing was something he had briefly considered upon his arrival, but it wasn’t something that he could see himself doing as a career. Too much pressure, too daunting.

“I’m not made to be a playwright, Pidge.” He told her. “I write poetry and short stories only to vent my thoughts. Nothing more than that.”

“I don’t believe that.” She scoffed, offering him a shrewd look. “But I do know that you’re meant for great things. Big things in your future now that you’ve started a new chapter. Have you heard from your late husband?”

“No.”

He poured another glass of whisky, taking a large gulp of it and cringing at the aftertaste.

“Hn. I hope it stays that way. He didn’t deserve you.” Pidge hummed, placing the pages back on the desk before flopping onto his small bed. It barely fit him, but with her much smaller frame it seemed massive, dwarfing her with ease. “If he tries to find you I’ll punch him.”

“I have no doubt of that,” he grinned wryly. He tucked another sheet of paper into the typewriter, preparing for another spattering of ink across the page. “Though if it does happen, I don’t want to be anywhere near it, if you don’t mind.”

“ _Fine_. But I will certainly regale you of it later.”

“I suppose I’ll have to live with that.”

“Yes.” She made a grumble in the back of her throat, rolling over and digging her face into the tattered blanket that Hunk had managed to drag with him when he’d left, humming appreciatively. “You smell nice.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“You’re not my type.” She waved him off, one handed.

“Is there a reason you’ve decided to come knocking on my door this evening, or did you visit because the troupe is grinding on your last nerve again?”

“Well, Lance _is_ getting on my nerve again, but I’ll give him a pass since his condition is causing him to act up. No, I decided you should get out of this room for once.” She drawled, turning to prop herself up on her elbows, shawl splaying everywhere.

“I _do_ work.” He said mildly.

“Have you genuinely left this room for anything _other_ than work?” Pidge raised a brow.

“I go to the kitchen to eat?”

She groaned, burying her face in the bed in utter exasperation. “That’s not what I _meant_ , Hunk. I mean go out, see the districts, go to a club, a restaurant, a _café_ \- anything but locking up in here and drinking every night.”

“I write too.” He protested.

“No. Not tonight. _Tonight_ I am taking you to one of the best kitchens in this city, and you are going to _like it._ Get your jacket.”

Hunk sighed.

There was no getting out of this one. 

* * *

The evening was surprisingly warm given the early spring weather, clouds rolling in from the horizon to promise rain as Hunk and Pidge walked down the street. The bright glimmering lights from the Moulin Rouge already lit up the sky, only a short walk from the building that he and Pidge resided in. It made sense for the small woman- most of her work took her to the infamous dance hall that housed some of the most alluring of the underworld. Hunk… well, it was the only thing he was able to afford.

Idle chatter was something that came naturally to Pidge. She was halfway through regaling him of something that one of her troupe- Lance, very likely- had done, when Hunk stumbled over a loose stone in the road and knocked into someone walking past.

“I’m sorry!” he nearly squeaked, embarrassment flushing his cheeks.

The man, dark haired and wearing a cap, shot him a look before continuing on, as if he hadn’t said a word. The red jacket was an interesting touch, though.

“Most won’t care if you apologize, Hunk.” Pidge patted his shoulder as he fell back into step. “Might be a revolution, but it doesn’t change the economy, or people’s mindset within a day.”

“Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

“Exactly.”

She gestured down a back alley and led the way, ducking into an open doorway further down, the green of her coat the only part of her he could track in the dim light.

He entered behind her, finding himself in a warm, quiet kitchen. There were several workers in uniform, presumably chefs based on their hats, and aside from a cursory glance they didn’t appear to be alarmed at the new arrivals.

“This is the best place in the city to get food.” Pidge smiled, appearing from wherever she had wandered off to, a couple of bowls of steaming stew in her hands. “The man who owns it is commissioned to supply meals to some of the establishments in the area. But what the rest of the upper class don’t know is that if you work for your food, you can eat like a king.”

She led him to a counter still covered in a light dusting of what appeared to be flour, hopping up on a stool and digging into her bowl of stew with gusto. Hunk followed, eyes still taking in the space that warmed some part of his chest he didn’t know was possible.

He had used to dream of silly things as a boy, his mother taking him to the counter and showing him how to roll out doughs for breads, how to create wondrous dishes from what they were able. His father had been as supportive as he could have been when Hunk had announced at the time that he desired nothing more than to be a chef of the greatest restaurant in the world. Of course, time, maturity and the hard truth of life had dulled that once vibrant dream into nothing but a fond memory, but being somewhere so clean and full of the large ovens brought it all back to the forefront.

Pidge picked up on the change in his mood almost immediately, sharp eyes focused in on him like a hawk.

“You said you used to enjoy cooking?” she asked in faux nonchalance, spooning another mouthful of stew into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully.

He made a noise in the back of his throat, ignoring her in favor of taking a seat and inhaling the warmth of the stew in front of him. He could see hearty chunks of potato, carrot and mushrooms in the broth, equally large pieces of meat steaming. It was easily the most luxurious meal he would have eaten since coming to the city, and he appreciated it as he took a bite. Spices settled on his tongue, a heady spice of pepper at the forefront, and he felt his shoulders sag at the taste.

It wasn’t that he had been poorly off, but having struck out on his own Hunk had found the higher class dishes a bit too far out of reach until he was able to build his savings up once again.

“Hunk?”

“I used to.” He blinked, brows furrowing. “I don’t do it much now. It’s hard to do it when you don’t have a kitchen or the money to buy any of the ingredients.”

“Hm.” She had that look on her face- the one that said that she was scheming and he would be caught in the middle of it. “Too bad.”

Conversation picked up again shortly after, neither bringing the matter up again. True to form, it was indeed the best meal that Hunk had eaten- quite possibly the best he’d had in his life. Or maybe he had just been starving himself while he had been drinking alone in his room. Either were quite possible.

Pidge left a folded piece of paper on the counter top as they gathered themselves to leave, content unknown to Hunk. It could have been anything, for all he knew.

“What would you be if you could?” she asked as she tucked himself into his side, the door closing behind them as they re-entered the alley, the skies dark above them. The wind had picked up to a soft breeze, the cold of it brushing over Hunk’s cheeks with the familiarity of an old friend. There was a thick dampness in the air, the rain clouds nearly overhead. “If class did not stop you, nor money or anything else. If you had everything you could want, what would you do?”

There was something in her tone that caused him to actually consider the question. While he wanted to say he had left his dreams in the past, the truth was that he still desired something more in life than being just another factory worker. He wanted to see the world, learn engineering, paint, fall in love and be in love, wanted to cook and pursue the things in life he wanted.

“Happy.” He finally replied, unable to help the grin at the scandalized expression that crossed her features at the word. “Truly happy.”

“That is _such_ a typical answer for you.” She muttered, the softness of her lips the only sign that she wasn’t truly irritated with him. “Very well then. I’ll see if you and I can’t find it for you. Whatever path it may take us down.”

The first droplets of rain brushed their noses, followed by more pattering around them. Within moments it had turned from soft rain to a full torrent, the white noise of it hitting the cobblestone doing nothing but soothe Hunk’s lingering nerves further. It had been a pleasant evening- more so than usual, anyway. It went to show how little it took to make him feel better about the world, amongst other things. That perhaps things would sort themselves out, and he would create a new future in Paris.

Pidge let out a strangled noise at the rain, tucking herself further into his side in an attempt to shield herself from the rain.

“I don’t know how you possibly enjoy this weather.” She groused.

Hunk laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

If one were to ask Keith if this was how he thought his life would turn out, the answer would be a resounding, vehement _no_.

His hands were steady as he stared himself down in the mirror, midnight locks curled and pulled away from his high cheekbones, dark eyes studying himself critically. The crimson streaked across his lips like warpaint, the dark lines edging his eyelids, smoky powder a hue he knew all too well conveying sultry.

Perfect.

Or so the managers of their humble establishment led their patrons to believe. Men with paws for hands, daring grasp at pale flesh as though he were nothing but a plaything for them and them alone, his tense jaw and dark glowers lost amidst the flourish of a seductress.

Oh yes, the _Lady_ of the Moulin Rouge was a household name- but to those who knew of him, knew the role he played in the shadows of the night, they would surely look on in horror. A man capable of near flawlessly portraying himself as a woman; laced in corsets of the darkest fabrics the tailors could get their hands on and skirts that did nothing save accentuate his long delicate legs and the dainty feet graced with shoes with edges as sharp as a knife. Who, if sufficiently provoked by wandering eyes straying too far, a hand left lingering a moment too long, would retaliate justice with the dark blade strapped to a pale thigh.

He sighed, grabbing a handkerchief from where he had left it and dipping it in a mixture of essential oil and water, intent on removing the night’s marks from his skin. He had long since given up attempting to forget what he did to earn his keep, resigning himself to doing what he did best and dealing with the aftermath on his own.

“You were stunning out there tonight, Keith.”

Shiro- _Le Chat Blanc_ as he was better known out amid the crowds- was leaning against the doorframe, the silver prosthetic at his side swinging an easy grace as it settled onto a cocked hip. The sharp silver and white stripes of his costume contrasted the darkness of his hair, the vest across his chest already unbuttoned and leaving very little to the imagination as Keith quirked a groomed brow in his direction.

Shiro had taken him in when he had first come to the Moulin Rouge, his broad shoulders and slate gaze a rather deceptive sight, as the man was nothing but a complete and utter fool when it came to so much as a gaze from one of the stagehands. Matthew, perhaps. The ginger haired man was all for making soft eyes at Shiro, and the feelings appeared to be mutual, if the constant blushing and fawning around were any indication. Then again, Shiro was frequently rendered speechless by pretty men, so perhaps his observations were skewed.

“Yes, well, I have to look my best for the hoard of _dogs_ out there, after all.” He muttered, going back to his work. “I’m almost done- I’ll meet you backstage?”

“Of course.” Shiro replied easily, smile in place as he slipped out and down the hall. Keith huffed out a sigh and went back to carefully wiping around his eye, practice cautioning his hand to avoid rubbing any of the dark lines into the corners.

His distaste for his work was no secret when he wasn’t in costume, playing the character he had chosen for himself. When Lotor had picked him up from the streets, promising glory, food, shelter and money, Keith had been suspicious. And rightly so, in the end. Accepting the fact that the director of the Moulin Rouge had taken an interest in him and was set on having him added to the collection of starving underground dancers was not something that had gone over lightly.

He had been furious, perhaps rightly so.

Shiro still regaled those who would listen the odd tale from time to time about the incident. He also reported those certain few patrons who returned time and time again, entranced by the raven-haired man who danced and sung in silken corsets and wielding a sharp tongue like a weapon. (Not to mention the actual _weapon_ if one were to become too handsy.)

There had, in fact, been several cases of missing fingers- in one instance, an eye. But whomever was brave or stupid enough to bring such accusations against the Moulin Rouge were mysteriously silenced. Whether by money, other means of bribery, or simply vanishing from Paris entirely, those who went up against one of the Moulin Rouge went against _all_ of the Moulin Rouge.

“You know, Lotor would hardly approve those words.”

“Then it’s a good thing that Lotor is currently away doing business, as you and I both know so well, Ezor.” Keith retorted drily, barely batting an eye as the vibrant dancer appeared, her skirts for the evening an array of dusky pinks, oranges and yellows- appropriate more for a sunset than the dancing she would be partaking in later on. “What brings you to my dressing table?”

“Zethrid is in a mood and Narti and Acxa are actually behaving themselves.” She made a face, petite features twisting for a moment before resetting, giving him her sunniest smile. “So, I decided to visit our very own belle of the ball. _After_ the clock struck twelve.”

Keith rolled his eyes, despite his lips twisting upward in a semblance of a fond smile.

Despite the four women who comprised Lotor’s personal guard, dancers and business partners, Keith found that he could rather enjoy most of their company. Acxa was fairly touch and go, considering her constant proximity to Lotor, but Zethrid and Ezor were fairly tolerable, and Narti was pleasant company whenever the blind woman was present.

“Charming.”

“There _is_ a reason I’m one of the favorites here at the Moulin Rouge.” She cooed, flipping her long blond and powdery pink hair over her shoulder. The result of many experiments with powders and dyes, Ezor’s unique colors and intricate hairstyles made her a popular favorite amongst some of the higher-class clientele. That, and her silver-tongued way of parting men from their coin. “You should move along- wouldn’t want to keep Shiro waiting now, would you?”

A wink, a flick of her skirts, and she flounced out of the room, neatly sidestepping another dancer and pecking a second on the cheek before vanishing.

With no more distractions, Keith finished removing the powders from his skin, making short work of removing the dark blue corset he had been strung into for the evening and sighing as he was able to take his first deep breath without feeling resistance. The slinky silken skirt was next, and he relished the sensations of pulling his own trousers and loose shirt over his skin, a comfortable faded red jacket sliding over the parchment yellow of the shirt. Finally, he released the pins holding his hair back from his face, sighing as he ran a hand through the locks before tying them back in a much simpler and more comfortable tail.

He was, in a word, plain. Easy to miss in a crowd, able to blend in with every other young man on his way home from work as he stepped out the back exit into the alley behind the Moulin Rouge, Shiro following close behind, his messenger cap concealing the white forelock that in some ways made him instantly recognizable. Few would realize that the plain, dark-haired man was the same silky tressed seductress that danced across a stage under the cloak of night. Fewer still as he slipped on his own cap and ducked his head, feet following a familiar path to Shiro’s loft several streets over.

Now, Keith didn’t _have_ to leave the Moulin Rouge if he so desired- his contract included rooms in the ornate lion tower that stood in the courtyard before the dance hall, specific to him alone. But that was a lonely existence, admitting that he was naught but a pretty bird to be caged in the grand scheme of things. And while it was a life that he was used to, and usually preferred, Shiro managed to drag him to his loft and feed him what little home cooked food he could manage to not completely char to a crisp.

It was not something he found himself proud of, the strange dependence he found himself almost craving from Shiro. He knew- he _knew_ \- that it would never end well. And yet, without fail for the last several months, the elder dancer had managed to worm his way through a crack in Keith’s walls. Always appearing at the most inopportune of times, his prosthetic always stirring conversation amongst those who didn’t seem to understand that it did little to hinder him and even less so now that his apparent illness had vanished with the loss of a limb.

Keith thought it odd, but if the doctors nor Shiro were terribly concerned about the matter than he would not be either.

Shiro lived with another man, Adam- friendly, companionable for the most part whenever they crossed paths- but his career as an astronomy professor at a university a city over tended to leave Shiro to his own devices.

Currently, however, it seemed he was back to his university position, Shiro explained as they wove through the back alleys and side roads, the cobblestone beneath his feet familiar. An old haunt of his when he was a child, left begging for scraps in the same parts of the city that now allowed him to walk about unhindered. It still brought a curl to his lip every time he thought of it.

They parted ways at the branch in the road in front of a small café, as they always did when Keith decided to wander the streets a while longer before retreating to someone’s home. Anywhere other than the ornate red lion sculpture that was supposed to double as his residence. He loathed it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night?” he asked, same as he always did.

“Of course.” Shiro replied. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

He did, but he didn’t think he would take Shiro up on the offer. Perhaps one of the other dancers, even one of the stage hands. He disliked it, but there was almost nothing he wouldn’t do to avoid thinking about the Moulin Rouge.

He coughed, rubbing his chest and wincing. The dampness in the air had been bothering him for most of the evening- now that he had the opportunity to be out in it, his lungs were protesting against it the only way that they were able.

Someone stumbled into him, apologies bursting from the man even as Keith shot him a half-hearted look before continuing on. Restless feet carried him through the streets of their district, eyes taking in the sights, the new shops that had appeared with the presence of the bohemian revolution. Life was beginning to take root in the darker holes of the city where there had been so much less in the not too distant past.

Along the way, he recognized some of his old haunts and hiding places, since turned to something new and exciting. A bar, a café, new housing for those moving to the district. Keith remembered the days that the buildings were rotting husks; roofs caving in, musty floorboards that creaked and groaned and would occasionally snap underneath his feet, sending him plummeting through to the floor below.

In some ways he missed it, if only for the freedom it had given him. No boundaries, nothing he couldn’t do. The future hadn’t been bright, but he’d never had much to lose. His hand had been dealt early, and with everything dealt after being brought into the underworld of the Moulin Rouge, he found he had even less.

He ended up on a troupe member’s stoop as the twilight took over the city, welcomed in with a nod and a small meal of bread and broth. Simple but effective, he found himself drowsily coiling into a small nest of loose fabric and old costumes, the window of the room letting in just enough light to see the vague silhouettes of the small space.

He would pick this over being trapped like a pretty bird any day of his life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to InklingDancer and Cookie both for doing the art in this chapter!

Since their first excursion out to the restaurant that Pidge had dragged him to, Hunk hadn’t been able to get the sleek, shining kitchen out of his mind. Perhaps she sensed it, for it was not the only time that she hauled him out of his room under the guise of “introducing him to the city”.

To be true, she did show him some of the hidden treasures of their district- a beautiful garden in a courtyard several streets over, owned by a lovely young woman who Pidge flirted with inconspicuously; another park nearby with plenty of small ponds and wildlife, as well as another handful of popular cafes and bars she seemed to know the owners of suspiciously well.

It wasn’t his business, so Hunk didn’t pry, but the questions were there nonetheless.

He did his thinking on the nights that Pidge didn’t come to his door- when he could hear the tell tale sounds of company. Likely the troupe she mentioned in conversation frequently. It was clear that she loved all of those she worked with, even if they did grind on her nerves more often than not.

Hunk continued his long shifts at the factory by day, spending most of his evenings and nights typing his thoughts onto paper or penning them down in neat, thin writing. Every once in a while, he felt a burst of inspiration, jotting his thoughts onto paper before they could disappear from his reach and almost taking it up to Pidge before some other part of him warred against it. He kept each of those papers, folded corners separating them from one another, all tucked away in the small drawer of the table next to his bed. Just in case.

His thinking was beginning to lead to an itch in his hands, a desire to create something other than ink on paper or mindless, monotonous work during the daylight hours.

One evening, before Pidge could come banging on his door, Hunk took to the streets himself, heart hammering in his chest at the thought of what he was going to do. He knew the path to the restaurant by now, could likely walk it in his sleep if he so desired, slipping into the alleyway and letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as he saw the ever-open door.

As always, there were a few chefs and cooks lingering in the kitchen- a couple of them offered him a smile as he entered. But Hunk looked for one of the head bakers- Ina, he thought he’d recalled her mentioning. Slight, with short cropped hair and starbursts of freckles across her cheeks, she looked the opposite of what Hunk had expected from a position of status amongst the kitchen folk. He had met her the last time he and Pidge had come, the young woman beginning preparations for the next day’s pastries and breads.

He found her in the further side of the kitchen, hands skillfully kneading and rolling out dough, her features focused entirely on her task. Without even glancing up, she grabbed a handful of flour and continued her work, a brisk “wash up and come assist me” the only thing offered.

Hunk blinked, paused as he tried to digest the words.

“Mister Garret, I know why you’re here. You’re hardly subtle.” She continued, then looking up for a moment as she grabbed a nearby knife, cutting the mound of dough in front of her into several smaller chunks with barely a flick of the wrist. “I suspected you would be arriving back here in search of work after the last time Katie brought you in.”

Hunk blinked again, not entirely sure he was following the train of thought that was currently occurring in front of him, before tentatively going to the deep sinks and doing as he was told before returning to Ina’s side.

“The owner of the restaurant gives the head baker and chef leave to hire whom they will. Show me what you are capable of, and you will be welcomed into our kitchen.” Ina said curtly, pointing Hunk to another mound of dough that had been set aside. “Roll out enough for dinner buns. There should be enough to serve at least one hundred if done correctly.”

This was the strangest thing that he could say had ever happened in regard to finding work, but Hunk wouldn’t dare look at the opportunity and spurn it. He dug his hands into the dough and got to work, missing the small smile that tugged his companion’s lips.

* * *

Pidge, naturally, was both parts equally surprised and smug when she discovered that Hunk had left the factory in favour of the restaurant. The hours differed greatly- rather than the daylight hours and arriving back to his room exhausted in the early evening, he woke much earlier; while the city slept on, he labored hard over the counters with Ina, preparing the day’s breads, buns and other pastries. It was hard work still, but he found he enjoyed the company and the conversation far more than he would have ever enjoyed the factory. Arriving home mid-morning gave him more than enough time to rest and recharge so that he could spend more of his time writing and visiting.

Pidge brought him a small clock of her own invention shortly after he shared the news, explaining that it was experimental but it was designed with a small timer to go off at whichever hour he desired, showing him the delicate pieces of its innards with a smile that mirrored the sun.

In return, he brought home half a loaf of bread from the kitchen, part of his wage in meals, the other in coin. They made a small dinner of broth and enjoyed the bread with butter, some part of Hunk’s heart swelling at the new gifts he was able to share with his friend.

It was nice, making friends in his new home.

* * *

When he _finally_ met Pidge’s troupe, it turned out Ina was a part of it. Usually only when she could spare the time, but she was an astounding actress and acrobat. Hunk arrived just at the end of one of their rehearsals, letting himself in as he had been told several times in time to watch Ina heave a darker skinned man above her, flipping to land neatly behind her.

The man- Lance, introduced himself with great enthusiasm, circling him curiously. He was clad in pale blues and browns that complimented his skin-tone and bright blue eyes. He’d heard plenty about him, given that he was the one who Pidge often found the most to complain about, but Hunk found his company pleasant enough. True, he was higher energy than Pidge could be- a possible reason as to why they grated on one another- but Hunk was somewhere in between them and could bridge the occasional disagreements. Or could, if given the opportunity.

“So you _do_ exist.” He said boldly, sticking his head out around Hunk’s shoulder. “I wasn’t sure- Pidge never wants to tell us anything about you.”

“Because he doesn’t need you poking your nose into any of his business.” Pidge replied immediately, immersed in pins and costumes with Ryan. Several pieces of bright colors lined her forearm where she was draping them, humming as she tried another color with his darker skin. “Ina, thoughts?”

“The dark blue and the cream.” Ina replied immediately, rolling her shoulders and beginning to stretch. “You went with purple and orange last time.”

Ryan made a noise of affirmation and a one-armed shrug at the reply. Quiet compared to the other personalities in the room.

Rizavi, as she had introduced herself, was wiping her glasses and leaning backward over the short couch, almost bent in half with her dark hair splayed over the dark orange fabric. However, she was watching the goings on with a quirk of her lips.

The final member of their troupe, James, was sulking over by the counter. He and Lance had gotten into it for a brief moment before Pidge had brutally shut it down, banishing him to the corner where he was now pouring himself a drink and sipping at it sulkily. It didn’t look like absinthe, but for all Hunk knew it could have been.

Lance stuck his tongue out childishly, finding safety behind Hunk’s larger frame as Pidge narrowed her eyes at him.

“Yeah, I think you’re right. Rizavi, you’re good to finish his costume before the meeting with Axca tomorrow? I have to finish putting together the screenplay and I know it’s going to be a nightmare.” Pidge sighed, turning her attention back to the task at hand. “As long as Lance doesn’t destroy the costume we’ve already finished, everything should go according to plan.”

“Hey!”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t done something stupid in trying to woo someone and something irreparable happened to at least three of your costumes in the last four months.” Pidge deadpanned.

Before he could open his mouth, James snorted.

“Leave him be, Pidge. He can’t help it.”

“If I have to buy any more new fabric that isn’t already planned for a costume, I’ll have your head.” She hissed threateningly, jabbing a pair of scissors in Lance’s direction. “Go grab the bread and cheese, we’re almost done here.”

“I’ll help.” Hunk offered, already moving to the kitchen. It was an addition, he could tell- the cabinetry mismatched and stacked haphazardly on top of one another, ice box holding the weight of the chaos on top of it. A slab of some kind of wood laid on top of a shelf to form a counter, several varieties of fruit and vegetable scattered across it. A beaten oven sat in the corner, looking as though it may have been one more meal away from falling to pieces.

His hands were already grabbing the potatoes and a knife before he thought about it, beginning to chop them for a broth. He could see some other root vegetables and a hare hanging above the oven next to a battered pot.

“He cooks too? Pidge, you’ve been holding out on us.” James commented, moving out of the way to grab the bread and cheese that Lance had elected to ignore. “If it tastes as good as I hope, you can stay as long as you like.”

Hunk flushed, pausing as he realized that he wasn’t in his own home, hands stilling where he was chopping the potatoes. But Pidge and Ina were watching him with equal amounts of amusement, their arms crossed over their chests. Pidge even looked approving in her strange, Pidge sort of way.

“Here, I’ll cut up the carrots.” Lance offered, sliding in next to Hunk and grabbing a smaller knife to get to work on them.

“Thank you.”

Lance’s cheeks flushed and he ducked his head, suddenly very focused on the task at hand. James was plating the cheese and bread on a platter that looked like it might have seen better days. Rizavi appeared with a bottle of whisky from who knew where, and suddenly everyone was clustered around the beaten counter top and laughing as they prepared dinner together.

Pidge smiled as she watched Hunk come out of his shell. He deserved all the nice things that the world could offer him. When they’d met, he’d been so quiet and depressed, locked away in his room. Getting him out to see Paris and the districts, finding a new career that so far, he seemed to deeply enjoy, and now meeting more like-minded people was doing him a world of good.

She elbowed him in the ribs, offering him a bright grin that he mirrored, eyes as warm and gentle as the rest of him.

“See? Making friends doesn’t hurt.” She gestured, the remainder of the group paying them no mind. Lance and Rizavi were in the middle of what appeared to be an animated discussion turned drinking competition, the bottle of whiskey already half gone. “You’re one of us, Hunk.”

“Seems so.” He agreed.

* * *

“Excuse me, are you alright?”

Keith growled something that might have been a curse, elbows deep in the sink and scrubbing at the dishes as though they had been the ones to cause him some personal offense.

It had been a long day and a longer night at the Moulin Rouge. Another incident with a patron that had led Keith to being dragged into Lotor’s currently empty office to get verbally shredded by Axca on how they were counting on him to bring in clientele and that if he kept it up they would be getting said man involved and quite possibly Zarkon.

Empty threats when it came to Zarkon- he was one to stay behind the scenes when it came to the Moulin Rouge. Lotor was the one doing business with most of their investors, his honeyed tongue able to smooth even the most ruffled of feathers. A gift of word, he certainly was.

Lotor was a pain in his ass, and he wouldn’t hesitate to tell the smug prick about it when he returned from whatever venture he’d gone on this time.

“Pardon me-“

A gentle hand landed on his shoulder. Operating on instinct, Keith whirled, hand on his knife before pausing. He thought he recognized the man, wracked his thoughts before recalling that he had literally run into him a couple of weeks prior. Dark skinned, warm eyes, longer hair than he would have considered appropriate for his profession in the kitchen. Then again, the owner had been letting Keith wander in off the streets for years; even before he had begun his contract with the Moulin Rouge.

To his credit, the man only blinked at having a knife pointed in his direction, slow and careful as he lifted his hands and moved back, offering a peaceful gesture.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle or offend you.” He said. And oh, his voice was soft and soothing to hear. “You looked upset-“

“And what?” Keith snapped back; hackles raised. “I suppose you wanted to _comfort_ me?”

The man’s features didn’t change, dark eyes staring him down. “Actually, I wanted to tell you that if you wanted to talk about it, I’m happy to listen. But since you’re clearly in a mood over it I’ll go back to doing my job.”

And then he left. Keith’s thoughts twisted and turned as he rolled the interaction through his mind again. Few people made it their business to listen to him or allow him his own personal space. It tended to make him more than a little waspish, which further deterred people to even attempt a conversation with him.

He sighed. He could hear Shiro’s voice chastising him, and he wasn’t even _present_.

Not fair.

The bigger man was back over at the long wooden counter, rolling dough with quick, efficient twists of his wrists. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, off yellow fabric bunching with each flex of his elbows.

He was a rather attractive man, Keith would admit.

He resisted the urge to groan, staring petulantly at the dishwater. Then he grabbed a towel and wiped his hands throwing the end over his shoulder as he warily approached the other man. Damn his inability to be mad at this man.

“Look,” he started awkwardly, twisting his hands together. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” The big man smiled easily, features softening and highlighting the beginnings of crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.”

“Still-“

“Really, it’s fine. Not everyone does well with random people sneaking up on them.”

Silence fell between them, the sound of the dough slapping the counter the only contributor to the conversation; or lack thereof.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you working in here before.” Keith offered, brain finally catching up with the rest of the world. “Did something happen to Ina?”

“No, no. I’m fairly new here. Ina hired me on as a baker.” The man offered with a shake of his head, a flash of teeth. “I’m usually here before she is to get everything started.”

“That’s… kind.”

The other man shrugged. “It’s the least I can do for being allowed to work in a kitchen like this. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one this grand in my life.”

“City life does that. Surprises you.” Keith found himself saying, a quirk of his lips as he remembered the first time he’d wandered in off the street. Everything so bright and clean compared to the world he was accustomed to living in.

“It certainly does. My name is Hunk. Or that’s what my friends call me.” He dusted off his hand on his apron, offering it with the same easy grin he’d worn moments earlier.

“… Keith.” He replied, tentatively shaking his hand and trying to ignore the fact that Hunk’s hand was at least double the size of his own.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before either, Keith.” Hunk said as he got back to work, cutting chunks of dough out and rolling them into neat lines. “Are you new here as well, or have we just not run into one another yet?”

“I haven’t been here lately. Usually just when I have the time. Or when I work to earn my keep.” His mouth replied before his brain could approve the words. “The owner is fairly understanding and lets those who need to work in exchange for a meal.”

“I’ve heard that.”

He didn’t pry, didn’t look at Keith like there was something wrong with him. Just kept rolling dough. He moved on from the lines of narrow dough, twisting them into knots and lining them on a tray nearby. He’d done it before, if Keith had to guess.

“I should go.”

“It was nice meeting you, Keith. Maybe next time we’ll meet with less pointed intentions.”

Keith barked out a laugh, the dry comment enough to startle it out of him.

“We’ll see.” He replied.

Keith retreated, finishing the last two pots before grabbing a roll from the tray set aside for the leftover breads and buns, wondering if it were Hunk who had made them before shaking the thought from his mind and slipping out the door.

It didn’t matter how nice Hunk was. Keith wasn’t someone that anyone would want to be friends with, and he rather preferred it that way. Less to worry about in the long run.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Shiro was cinching the latest and tightest corset Keith had had the displeasure of wearing when Lotor apparently returned.

Word spread down the hall, the dressing rooms abuzz with the news. Keith hardly understood the fuss- it wasn’t like Lotor wouldn’t have come back. And even if he hadn’t, he had the four ladies who waited hand and foot for him to deal with any issues while he was away.

Issues like Keith, perhaps.

He and Axca never got along- her proximity to Lotor at nearly all times was enough to have his lip curling, but her superiority complex was more than enough to spark a fight now and then when she deigned decide to walk all over him. How any of the other ladies had ever been in a relationship with her, he didn’t know. However, there was something to be said for how all four balanced one another out- Axca the serious one, Narti the calm and quiet, Zethrid the brawn and brawler, and Ezor for her enthusiasm and energy.

He sighed, putting his head in between his forearms and arching his back as Shiro pulled another line of silk taut against his skin. The dress was dusky orange and pink, black silk gloves, collar and heels the accents for the ensemble, but damn if it didn’t hurt every inch of him with every inch that the corset pulled tighter.

“Do you really have to pull it so tight?” he muttered sulkily, feeling his hips and spine already beginning to protest the harsh treatment. It was something that he had become accustomed to, his form always retaining a slight curve even outside of the costumes. A side effect from wearing corsets from early on, he supposed.

“Yes.” Shiro replied dryly, looping the next strip of silk around his prosthetic with practiced ease and pulling it tight. “Because otherwise you look too masculine to pass for a woman.”

“Damn them.” Keith growled. “Every last one of them can go to Hell.”

“Hey.” He soothed, smoothed metal rubbing over his shoulder. “You can do this, Keith. Patience yields focus.”

“I cannot wait for the day you stop saying that to me.”

“Then you should start listening more.” Shiro said. Keith could hear the smile in his voice as he resumed his work, finally tapping Keith’s hip when he was done and stepping back to allow him his usual few moments to settle in the stifling fabrics. Being the star of the show had its perks in some twisted sort of way, but on the other hand, he couldn’t stand being in the hot silky fabrics with the lights shining down on him in a spotlight. It made him feel too exposed, too out in the open, residual instinct telling him to make a run for it or attack the first person to touch him.

The dress _was_ lovely, he would admit. Pulled tight in all the places it should, pushing up his chest to give the illusion of the female form. Powders and makeup would further continue to curate the image of it, along with a simple updo to match the rest of the costume.

“Would you like help with your hair?”

“I believe I can take it from here, Takashi.” A silky voice said from the doorway.

“Lotor.” Shiro greeted, glancing between Keith and the pale haired man warily. It was no small secret that Keith disliked- borderline _loathed-_ the man for tricking him into a contract with the Moulin Rouge.

Lotor Daibazaal was a curious character of a man; preferring to keep his long, pale blond hair in a tail and wearing varying shades of purple and violet in everything that he wore. He was unlike his father in that he preferred not to cause mass violence without reason, but regardless of that fact he was still his father’s son, and he did cause the occasional incident. Outside of the public eye, of course.

He was well spoken, educated, and everything that spoke to someone of high status.

Everything that defied his role as the management of the Moulin Rouge.

“You look lovely tonight, Keith.”

“All thanks to you, I suppose.” Keith bit back. He might hate the man, but there was no denying that he did treat the majority of the dancers, crew and other members of the club with some measure of respect. Varying depending on the person- hence the animosity between himself and Keith.

“And the generous investors of our humble dance hall.” Lotor hummed, eying up the small dressing room appraisingly. Keith had very few personal items in the space, save for his knife, which he kept in front of him on his table when it wasn’t strapped to his thigh or his calf. Always accessible.

The only other thing was a photograph of his first show, much younger and with Shiro standing next to him. It was both a fond and bitter memory. Keith had barely been able to move the next day, his ribs and sides marked with bruises and nicks from the thick corset digging into his skin. But the retreat to bed with a roof over him and a roof in his belly had made it seem worth it at the time. Barely.

“What do you want, Lotor.” Keith asked flatly, turning and crossing his arms over his chest. “Usually you avoid me like I have the plague- so why the sudden change of heart?”

For once in his life, Keith was granted the rare opportunity of seeing Lotor’s façade crack, if even for a moment. He swallowed, glancing out the door, appearing for a brief fraction of a moment the young man he actually was.

“There are several new investors interested in the Moulin Rouge.” He said finally. “One of whom is going to be arriving here in the next several weeks to determine whether or not to invest. One of my father’s old acquaintances- a Duke.”

A duke? Interested in a hole like the Moulin Rouge?

His brows must have told Lotor all he needed to know, because he barked out a laugh, rubbing his jaw.

“I understand that you and I are in poor standing, but lest we want to see someone less savoury running the Moulin Rouge, it would be in everyone’s best interests to refrain from causing a scene until after the Duke’s visitation has completed.” He said shortly. “You and I both know your contract is too valuable to waste, but I fear that if this visit turns sour the Duke will not hesitate to involve my father in the business one again, no matter how ill he might be.”

Keith had heard rumors of Zarkon. A high standing merchant turned lord or duke; he could never remember. But Shiro had begun working at the Moulin Rouge long before Lotor had taken the lucrative business over and breathed new life into it, and he was intimately familiar with Zarkon’s infamous temper and management of the dancers. Every now and again when someone mentioned it, Shiro’s shoulders would tense like he expected something to happen before glancing over his shoulder and continuing on like he hadn’t just been acting like a startled animal.

“So, what, I pretend to be the pretty dancer that everyone expects to see when they come to see the show?” Keith asked, baring his teeth. “As if that isn’t enough.”

“You don’t understand, Keith. The Duke… he is not like the rest of them. He is like nothing you have ever seen. He was a mercenary once, building his fortune on the backs of those he slaughtered. The pretty title simply means he had more influence than the rest of us. For the sake of naught else but the rest of the dancers, behave yourself. Please.”

Keith didn’t care about himself. He had nothing to lose if something turned sour. But he wasn’t so cruel as to abandon the rest of the dancers to whatever fresh Hell would come down on their heads for whatever he did while the investor visited the Moulin Rouge.

It went against everything in him, but he forced himself to breathe, grabbing the black silk gloves and running his fingers over the fabric.

“I’m not doing this for you.” He growled.

“I know.”

Keith narrowed his eyes at the other man, scrutinizing every inch of his features for any signs of deception. But for once Lotor had none of his typical characteristics- he was being completely honest with him for once in both their lives.

“I make no promises the second the duke leaves.”

This time a quirk of the lips was his reply. “I know.”

“Good. Then we’re done here.”

Keith turned, beginning to work one long glove onto his arm with practiced ease. Shiro would reappear before he was supposed to go out on the floor; he almost always asked the older man to help him with his hair and makeup. For someone supposedly disabled, Shiro had quite the skill in dealing with hair and had a steady hand to line his eyes.

He waited until Lotor’s soft steps vanished before heaving out a heavy breath. He loathed the corner that he’d been backed into, but he still had too much heart to be truly broken by this world.

At least, that was what Shiro seemed to insist every time Keith said otherwise.

Shiro arrived not long after Lotor had left, Keith nearly done his dressing and beginning the careful lining of his eyes with the black liner. His dark eyes stared back at him accusingly as he hissed through his teeth and blinked, the brush grazing his eye instead of the delicate skin around it.

“Lotor seemed on edge.” Shiro commented, gently swatting away Keith’s hand and reclaiming the brush, tilting his chin back to get a better look at his face. “Something happen?”

“Apparently,” Keith muttered, “there’s an investor coming to the Moulin Rouge to determine if they want to put their money into this hole. An old friend of Zarkon’s.”

He didn’t want to say it, but he knew that Shiro would find out one way or another.

“Oh.”

“Lotor looked spooked.” Keith said, careful of the shadow that had crossed Shiro’s features. “And he actually bothered to be a half decent human being to me.”

“So it’s serious, then.” Shiro said softly.

“Must be.”

Keith fell silent at a nudge from Shiro’s hand, blinking his eyes closed and holding still to allow him to see the lines he’d made more clearly. He never knew what to do with Shiro looking so soft and vulnerable around him, unused to seeing it.

But Shiro was something else. Soft edges and warmth where the light had managed to fill in the cracks that his life had left on him, new growth blooming upward and out. It was an odd contrast compared to the shadows and dark and dirtiness that tainted Keith’s every fibre.

Makeup done, Shiro moved on to Keith’s hair, mindful of the dark locks as he combed his hand through and pulled it up into an elegant twist, the pins added swiftly and ruthlessly. Given his look for the evening, Shiro decided to leave several long strands loose about Keith’s cheeks, making him look like a young woman; large dark eyes with long lashes and pouty lips.

Slipping his feet into the boots Shiro offered, Keith was quiet as he finished lacing them up, stretching when he did stand and getting used to the weight of the fabric.

“You look stunning.” Shiro said.

“I look the _part_.” Keith corrected, accepting Shiro’s arm as he moved to the door.

The hall was the same length as always, Shiro merely looking the part of the chaperone as he escorted Keith to the higher levels of the Moulin Rouge for his grand entrance of the evening. Keith’s heels clicked on the wood beneath him, passing by the trio of ladies serving Lotor’s every whim. Axca was nowhere to be found- likely doing some measure of comfort considering how unnerved Lotor had been.

Zethrid matched Ezor and Narti’s costumes, all of them some measure of whites, silvers and charcoal for the evening. Zethrid eyed up Keith as he walked by, teeth glinting as she whistled at him.

He snarled back, painted lips curling.

Shiro tugged him along patiently, ignoring the antics and getting to the end of the hall so he could be cinched into the swing that would wave out over the crowd of roaring high class men in their black and white suits, play the part of the pretty simpering woman and get the hell off of the floor so he could get a drink and some food before going to bed.

“You’re going to be great.” Shiro half smiled at Keith once he was seated and strapped in.

“You need to be on the floor.”

“I’ll see you after the show.”

Keith nodded even as the spotlight flared on, the orchestra below stirring up the beginning of the first song. An elegant pout settled into his face, creasing in all the best ways to catch the light as he’d been trained.

Another day, another coin in his pocket.

* * *

Hunk saw Keith a handful more times in the kitchens, every time at one odd hour to the next. Never before nightfall, which was usually about the time that Hunk and Pidge might stop by to find food. Only ever during the witching hours of the early morning, while Hunk was coaxing the lights to life and rubbing the remnants of sleep out of his eyes.

Funnily enough, Hunk had yet to meet the owner of the restaurant as well, though he certainly heard plenty of the character of the man. But despite the tales of his kindness and his charitable nature, Hunk was wary in saying that he would go so far to allow anyone to just wander in during the middle of the night.

But perhaps that was just his wariness talking in the grand scheme of things.

Keith was interesting in that he didn’t spend much time on small talk. He would usually arrive and beginning leaning what few dishes never seemed to be washed in the evenings- maybe they were left behind for a particular reason. And when he did speak, it was less to Hunk and more to himself. Odd, but hardly unusual. Hunk did the same while he was trying to sort out his thoughts at the typewriter.

Pidge had finally managed to coerce him into allowing some of his poetry to be used as inspiration for her “Spectacular Spectacular” production that she and the troupe were preparing to display for the Moulin Rouge. It wouldn’t have been such a big thing, other than the fact that she wanted _him_ to be present as their _writer_ while they presented the concept.

It had Hunk’s stomach in knots.

Which was why he was already halfway through all the usual prep by the time that Ina arrived, pulling off her pretty green overcoat to reveal her usual formfitting white shirt rolled to the elbows and straight legged pants. Out of some long-forgotten habit, Hunk had begun rolling dough for croissants, a treat from his childhood that his mother had baked on occasion.

“Those are not on the menu for today.” She commented idly, pulling on her apron and tying it neatly behind her back, long fingers deft. “Is something on your mind, Hunk?”

“I don’t understand why Pidge wants me there when you present the concept to the Moulin Rouge.” He said, grunting as he heaved the dough around on the counter. “I’ve never done anything like this, and I keep telling her that I don’t want to be a writer like she is. I just don’t know that I’m cut out for this.”

“Hunk.” Ina placed her hand on his shoulder, features softening. “You are very gifted. That Katie wants you to be there to share in the presentation is not something to scoff at.”

“But I’m not used to this!”

He stopped, hands clenching as he tried to find the right words.

“I’m barely out of a separation and still trying to find myself in this place.” He tried, brows furrowing. “Writing isn’t something that I’m interested in pursuing as a career- I love cooking, and baking, and creating things that are more tangible than just putting words onto a piece of paper.”

“Be that as it may, words can be powerful things as you and I both know.” Ina said knowingly. “And you have a gift- one that is special enough to be put on display for people to know. It does not mean that you would have to give up everything else that you enjoy. I am not always a baker, as you know.”

Hunk sighed.

“If you truly do not wish to be there, I do not think any of us would hold it against you, Tsuyoshi.” She moved her hand to his arm, thumb rubbing the back of his hand. “But I think in some ways it would be a positive thing. Something to further place your old life behind you and the memories that are unpleasant.”

He allowed some of the tension to drain out of his shoulders at Ina’s words.

“Yeah. You’re right.”

She smirked at him, bumping her shoulder into his. “I know.”


	5. Chapter 5

The day of the presentation came too soon in Hunk’s opinion. Thankfully, Pidge had dragged him out of bed during the early afternoon- it had been a later morning in the kitchens, and Hunk was quite frankly _exhausted_ \- to get him dressed and up to meet with the rest of the troupe for a final meeting before they would go to the Moulin Rouge and present Hunk’s work as a new show.

No pressure.

None of the troupe seemed as effected as he was. Lance was certainly the most visibly enthused, bouncing around and chattering at a rate that was downright concerning considering how little he appeared to be breathing, but Pidge didn’t seem worried so he just let it go.

Ina took one look at Hunk’s suit and cocked her head to one side, eyes narrowing as she appraised him.

“You’re missing something.” She informed him.

Pidge turned on her heel immediately, already in her tailored suit and her dark wood cane in hand. She didn’t need it to walk, but Hunk had learned early on that she used it to compensate for her smaller than average height, taking out those in her path with a quick jab to the toes or ankle. She joined Ina in staring intently at Hunk’s attire- he just did his best to make no sudden movements. Who knew what they would do if he attempted a hasty retreat?

“Hat?” James said blandly from his corner of the room, arms crossed over his chest.

“Scarf?” Rizavi suggested.

“What about a flower to match his hair tie?” Lance finally suggested, pointing to the vase of mixed wildflowers that someone had brought with them. “There’s some nice daisies that would go with it.”

“That’s an excellent idea. Thank you, Lance.” Ina said, reaching over to pluck one of the blooms from the vase and hold it up to Hunk’s skin for some kind of comparison. “Yes, this will do perfectly.”

A quick twist of the stem to shorten it, and Ina tucked the pretty little flower through one of the button holes on Hunk’s jacket, smoothing out the fabric once she was done.

“There.” She said in satisfaction. “The writer of the hour today.”

“It’ll be fine. We’ve done this before.”

“Hunk hasn’t.” Pidge reminded the group sharply. “I won’t pretend that it’s going to be anything you’re used to, because it isn’t. You’ve heard all about the rumors, about the people who work there.”

He nodded. Hunk had heard many things about the Moulin Rouge, not all of them savoury.

Well, very few of them savoury. Pidge had mentioned offhandedly several times that even despite the work that the dancers and those who managed the establishment, most of them were only doing it to keep off the street. For that, how could Hunk blame them for it? He’d nearly been on the street himself if not for his meager savings before coming to Paris.

Something he had never mentioned to Pidge but felt she knew despite the fact.

“It’ll be fine. Just don’t make eye contact with the Four Horsemen and you’ll be fine.” Rizavi waved him off, emphasizing the point with a languid stretch that looked mildly uncomfortable. “Also Lance just wants to see if Le Chat Noir is there.”

“Who?”

“Only the most beautiful dancer in the world.” Lance sighed, eyes looking far off for a moment. “She’s the most infamous dancer at the Moulin Rouge, but no one’s ever seen her during the day around there. It’s like she doesn’t even exist until she’s on stage.”

“And let’s not forget her ever-present chaperone, Le Chat Blanc.”

“Shiro.” Pidge corrected, blinking when she got a handful of stares. “What? It’s not like I haven’t told you that Matt and Shiro are friends before.”

“No, but we keep forgetting.” James snorted.

The clock chimed three bells- Pidge clapped her hands together as she became the troupe master once again.

“Alright you lot, let’s go impress the judge and jury of the Moulin Rouge and get this show on stage where it belongs! Lance, you’re staying right next to me so you don’t cause a scene again. I will use lethal force if I have to.”

Lance grimaced, shifting like he was afraid that she would lash out at his leg for even thinking about it.

“Ryan, can you grab the costumes for me?”

Ryan nodded, a thumbs up gesture at the ready as the group made for the door. Hunk swallowed nervously, looking around at the rest of the troupe. None of them looked too concerned about the presentation, Lance already making jokes at Pidge on their way out the door, the inevitable sound of wood hitting flesh and a startled yelp echoing down the hall.

“You’ll do fine.” James said, falling in line with Hunk as they closed the door and followed the rest of the group. “Just stand there and look like you know what you’re doing. Pidge will handle the rest. It’s what she’s good at.”

“Managing the rest of us?” Hunk couldn’t help but say, a nervous laugh bubbling out of his throat.

“Something like that.” James grinned back.

-

What Hunk didn’t expect, upon first impressions, was how much bigger the Moulin Rouge was on the inside compared to the tiny looking front entrance. Past that lay a sprawling courtyard, a large, ornate red lion statue sitting proudly to one side. It appeared to have some kind of living quarters in the head and open maw of the beast- idly, Hunk wondered what that must be like; living in that kind of place.

Past the entrance and courtyard came the covered dance hall and general structure, the hall tall with beams that seemed to support it all the way up to the sky. At the moment, it was deserted- too early for the night’s events that would no doubt be taking place later that evening. For now, there were just a few smatterings of dancers rehearsing a number and the riggers and general maintenance workers.

“This is my first time actually performing here.” Lance breathed as he fell in line with Hunk. His eyes were huge as they took in the hall with the larger man, leaning into him as he let out a breathless laugh. “I’ve heard about it, of course, seen the photographs, but being here is really something else.”

“It is.” Hunk had to agree. “But I thought-“

“What, that I’ve been here before?” the slimmer man laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve been here once before to see Le Chat Noir perform. One of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen. After that I looked a lot harder at finding a troupe to take me in and here we are three years later.”

“That long?” Hunk’s brows raised.

“I have a condition that affects my attention. It makes it hard for me to focus and I get too jittery sometimes for some people to like.” Lance shrugged. “Pidge didn’t care about that. And I know I get on her nerves sometimes, but I do my best because she gave me a chance when no one else would.”

“I think she just does that.”

“Hunk! Come here a moment!”

“He blinked, walking over to where Pidge was in conference with a man who looked like he had to be the brother that she mentioned in passing from time to time, and a dark-haired man with a streak of white in his hair and a silver arm who wore an easy grin on his features.

“Matt, Shiro, this is Hunk.” She introduced briefly, ducking under the hand that went to ruffle her unruly hair from her brother. “The tall bean pole is my brother, and Shiro is a close friend of the family.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Hunk.” Shiro said warmly, leaning forward to shake Hunk’s hand with his prosthetic. Without even thinking, Hunk grasped the smooth metal fingers and shook once, twice.

“You too. Pidge keeps telling us about you.”

“Good things, I hope.”

“Only about you, Shiro.” Pidge said smoothly from where she had beaten Matt into submission. The elder Holt sibling was bent over at the waist and grimacing, rubbing his shin with a look that promised retribution. “Matt can go to Hell.”

“You know, I can’t imagine the church would condone that sort of language.” Shiro said mildly.

“Good thing we’re not in a church then, isn’t it?” she beamed sunnily at him. “Have you seen the Four Horsemen of all that’s unholy?”

“Axca’s with Lotor somewhere- the other three are probably backstage getting their last fittings done for the performance tonight.” Matt replied for the taller man. “Speaking of which, I should probably get going; Lotor’s probably going to come looking for me if I don’t get the rigging done in the next hour.”

“Good luck.” Shiro patted him on the shoulder, watching him go with a fond look.

Approximately two seconds later, he flushed bright pink, stumbled, and crashed into a nearby pile of rig rope as Lance went sailing by in a series of flips.

“Oh Lord help me not again.” Pidge muttered, rubbing her face with one hand tiredly. “Shiro, you’re a disaster.”

A low warbling noise came from the pile of rope.

“Talk to him yourself! I’m not bailing you out of your own infatuation.” Pidge sighed. “I don’t suppose you’re going to be much use in finding Lotor for me now, are you?”

“Looking for me, are you little bird?”

A tall, elegantly dressed man appeared, brow quirking curiously as he took in the scene- Shiro, buried under a pile of rope, Hunk and Pidge standing nearby. Hunk probably looked like a spooked animal and Pidge was leaning against her cane like she could care less about the situation.

“Lotor.” She greeted. “I’ve brought you the show you requested.”

“Oh?” he stated, brow raising higher. “I thought the last time I made such a request of you, you told me to, “go to Hell, dirty-“

“I know what I said.” She snapped, flicking her hair back. “However, I found a new writer to help write the ‘Spectacular Spectacular’. This is Hunk.”

“Hunk.” Lotor tasted the name, gaze resting on him. Hunk felt a ripple of unease run through him at the vaguely predatory look he took on, but nonetheless he cleared his throat and nodded.

“You understand, of course, that if this show is approved that you will be hired on as additional cast?” he looked back to Pidge. “Full wages, of course.”

“I would expect nothing less.” Pidge replied airily.

“Hm.”

Lotor’s gaze shifted off of the pair of them, looking over the troupe behind them. Lance was now stretching out with Ryan, who had apparently handed off the costumes to Ina, who was standing primly next to James and Rizavi. Rizavi was half-heartedly beginning to stretch out her shoulders as she said something to James, the dark-haired man rolling his eyes.

“Very well, little bird. You have five minutes to prepare your troupe, and ten to suitably… _impress_ me.”

Shiro reappeared, cheeks still flushed and his eyes evidently conflicted on whether or not to stare directly at Lance or not. Pidge slowly shook her head at him, distinctly unimpressed and exasperated both.

Perhaps sensing the events taking place, those others in the hall kept glancing over to the group as they quickly- and shamelessly, Hunk noted- changed into their costumes. Rizavi and Lance both were down to the bare minimum, Shiro squeaking from behind Pidge, who immediately clipped him in the shin with her cane, muttering something about being a “useless disaster”.

Lotor took the entire thing in stride, calling over one of the riggers and requesting drinks be brought forth. Whether for the entertainment or the possibility of everything going sideways, Hunk didn’t know, but he was pretty much prepared for any scenario with how quickly his brain was circling through probabilities.

They didn’t need the full five minutes to prepare themselves, so with a grand flourish and a sweep of the cane, Pidge wrapped herself in the character she became whilst being in the forefront of the troupe, bowing low with a sly smirk directed at Lotor, and the show began.

-

“You’re a disaster.” Matt and Keith informed Shiro once the troupe had gathered their things and left the hall, the ink still fresh on the contract with the Moulin Rouge clutched in Pidge’s hands.

Shiro put his face in his hands, a long groan of utter misery leaving him.

“My favorite part was where you literally fell for him.” Keith smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You saw that?” he whined piteously, daring peek through the fingers covering his eyes.

“Everyone saw that, Shiro.” Matt rolled his eyes, patting the man on the shoulder sympathetically. “Almost as impressive as the first time we met.”

“I don’t want to think about it.” He moaned, cheeks flushing scarlet as he buried his face anew into his hands. Matt and Shiro had been a thing several years before, and it was now widespread knowledge amidst those he knew that Shiro was something of a legendary love-at-first-sight man in the Moulin Rouge. He was completely unable to help the stuttering, clumsy mess he turned into every time a pretty man so much as looked in his direction.

“And when did you get here? Where were you lurking?” Matt asked Keith.

Keith pointed up at the rafters, where the new swing that had been brought in for the show was being installed.

“They had to make sure that it was in the right location and since _I’m_ the one usually strapped into it, they needed me to tell them where it goes.” He shrugged.

He wouldn’t mention the part where his jaw had _almost_ dropped at the sight of Hunk in a tailored suit. Or really, Hunk’s presence in the Moulin Rouge at all; his brain was oddly fixated on the man. Though he would definitely take _that_ secret to the grave. People like him didn’t get happily ever afters, especially not with a near complete stranger.

“Huh. I feel like I should have known that was happening.” Matt acknowledged, hands on his hips and waving cheerfully up to the crew precariously balanced high above the floor.

“You probably should have.” Keith agreed.

Shiro sighed, suitably embarrassed for the afternoon, before taking a seat on the floor comfortably. Matt joined him a moment later- any excuse to be more comfortable would always be the priority in his eyes. Both of them sat there, staring up at Keith like he was suddenly extremely fascinating.

“What.” He blinked, glancing between the two of them suspiciously.

“When are you going to settle down?” Matt asked cheekily, propping his chin on his palms and looking far too invested in what the potential answer would be.

“I’m not.” He said flatly. He felt his shoulders tense as Shiro’s gaze turned more serious, glancing between he and Matt like he wasn’t sure what to expect next.

“Sounds lonely.” Matt continued, gaze sharpening. His tone remained light and playful, but Keith knew he was pushing. Always with the pushing- it was the reason they weren’t close and would never _be_ close.

“It’s supposed to be.” Keith bit back. “Excuse me.”

He turned on his heel, burying the deep sunken thoughts that tried to push back to the forefront. Guarded himself against the small part of himself that did want to try and make connections.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

-

Hunk was still feeling the buzz from the several drinks he’d nursed over the evening when he wandered into the kitchens, going about the lights and starting the ovens. Ina wasn’t due in until mid-morning, tasked with the later delicacies on the menu for the day. Probably for the best- she had over indulged for one of the first times since joining the troupe.

(Rizavi had mentioned it, amongst a slew of giggling and slurring, leaning heavily against his shoulder as she sipped at her own beverage.)

She would likely be dealing with quite the headache when she did arrive, but it was nothing to scoff at. Pidge’s production was the biggest that she had ever brought to the table; the fact that Lotor had not only given them the opportunity to show him the idea despite the rocky history that lingered between he and Pidge, and then proceeded to offer them a contract for the show was _big_. Quite possibly the biggest production to be offered a contract, for that matter.

“Are you going to continue to help write the show?” Pidge had asked him before he’d left, cheeks flushed but eyes bright as she caught his arm. “You don’t have to, but we would never have gotten this far without you, Hunk.”

“I’ll think about it.” He’d said.

He still was, mulling it over in his mind as the last vestiges of drink simmered in the looseness of his limbs. Hardly enough to incapacitate- just enough that Hunk was feeling slightly more relaxed than usual as he got down to business.

Keith slunk in an hour or so later, shoving his cap into a pocket as he started on the dishes wordlessly.

At this point, Hunk was almost positive that Keith was the only one who washed them- he hadn’t seen anyone else come in to do it since he’d begun working in the restaurant. But he didn’t say anything, content to knead dough and allow himself the rare indulgence of appreciating how attractive the other man was. He was delicate in some ways; the arch of his jaw, the delicate frame and long fingers that were somehow un-calloused.

Would he ever say these things?

Unlikely.

Keith didn’t seem the type, nor did Hunk think that he would be interested in the baggage that he carried of a failed marriage.

Instead he watched from afar, as he suspected he was doomed to be for the rest of his life. The thought was oddly amusing, given the current situation. He huffed out a snort at himself, shaking his head and focusing all of his energy on what was in front of him.

He didn’t see the strangely soft look that he received in turn when Keith glanced over.

It was for the best.

_It was for the best._


	6. Chapter 6

Keith wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get into this mess.

Despite his best efforts, the continued run-ins with Hunk continued to happen in the restaurant kitchens. It was hard not to pay attention to the larger man. He had an energy that was very welcoming despite his slightly intimidating frame, and he always made the attempt to say hello to Keith- even if Keith was about as friendly as a feral cat.

It didn’t help that Keith was keeping a low profile at the Moulin Rouge while preparations continued for the Duke’s impending visit and the beginnings of preparation for Pidge’s ‘Spectacular Spectacular’. It meant that Hunk and the rest of the troupe were going to be present more often than not in the near future.

Never mind that they were already present every time that Keith was when he snuck in the back, pulling his cap down to cover his features. Call it paranoia that someone would recognize him outside of his role as Le Chat Noir, call it avoidance, he wasn’t picky.

He would have placed good money on betting Hunk would never have come into the Moulin Rouge on his own, but it was probably for the best that such events would not have come to pass. Shiro and Matt would have been onto him in seconds if he had said anything.

So he remained distant, hating himself for how easily he managed to slip into Hunk’s orbit when he’d managed just fine for so many years on his own.

Which probably explained how his mouth managed to get him into trouble when he hunched his shoulders and slunk over to Hunk’s workstation in the kitchen instead of leaving after finishing the small mountain of dishes that had been left for him to do.

That in itself was enough to get Hunk’s attention. Keith rarely spoke when he was working, and there had only been two instances of him approaching the man on his own terms. (And one was to apologize for being a prick, so he was fairly sure that that one didn’t count.)

“Keith.” Hunk greeted pleasantly, gaze only marginally showing his surprise.

“Would you like to go get coffee sometime?” he blurted before he could lose his nerve.

Hunk froze. They stared at each other like the other was about to bolt for several long seconds before Hunk cleared his throat, and was that a _blush?_

“I, ah. Well, coffee’s a bit expensive, but I wouldn’t mind meeting you here for dinner?”

It was phrased in such a way that he could have backed out- he’d been _handed_ the opportunity.

But his traitorous brain decided otherwise.

“Okay.”

“Alright then.” Hunk agreed, a broad smile like the sun slowly creeping across his features. It nearly took Keith’s breath away- how was this man so utterly charming and perfect and infuriatingly able to get under his skin?

“Tomorrow night?” Keith remembered to say, sure that his entire face was bright red.

“I’ll be here.” Hunk promised.

Keith nodded, offering some garbled word that might have been a good night, before fleeing. It was only one night, _one_ meal. It didn’t mean anything and it would never would.

_One meal._

He could indulge himself one meal.

-

One meal turned into two.

Two turned to three.

Three turned into four; turned into suddenly he couldn’t count how many there had been. Despite telling himself every time that it would be the last time, it _had_ to be the last time, Hunk continued to ask him for his company. Like a fool, perhaps, Keith gave it freely.

Despite Keith’s obvious discomfort with the social situations, Hunk was able to carry the bulk of the conversation, asking questions that were easily redirected or unanswered if they were too personal. Perhaps it was just the way that he was.

It wouldn’t surprise Keith either way. He’d seen enough of the man to begin to see how open he was, wearing his heart on his sleeve as it was.

It also made it much harder to explain away why he wasn’t available during the day, being called upon to begin reading the pages of the show that Pidge had quickly taken over in the Moulin Rouge. No resource went unnoticed, no dancer excluded and every other performer being dragged into the chaos. He knew his secret would be safe with her, but nonetheless every time that he turned up for readings as Le Chat Noir he could feel her gaze sitting heavy on him.

It didn’t seem to matter much- they claimed the night as their own, Hunk inviting him to his flat when the restaurant became too stifling.

Days became weeks _far_ too swiftly.

However much he protested mentally, digging his heels into the sand and refusing to budge, his stubborn, bitter heart had somehow softened ever so slightly. Enough that Shiro could sense that something had changed. The man started glancing over in Keith’s direction with puzzled looks, like he was trying to solve some great complex algorithm. And maybe he was; Keith wasn’t a mind reader. But he was hardly about to start going around and sharing his secrets when ultimately, he didn’t know if it would work out. If he would push Hunk away and ruin everything or go and die before he could say anything that truly mattered. So he continued down the road he’d chosen for himself.

And if he were to let Shiro keep wondering, that was his own business. He was going to keep his cards close to his chest.

-

They had their first kiss under the overhang of an abandoned building, their cheeks flushed from the sprint to shelter as the rain began to pour down from the sky. Regardless, Keith’s hair was dripping, and Hunk’s wasn’t doing much better, but in the heat of the moment neither of them cared.

Hunk was warm- generating heat and a cover for Keith as he pulled him close like a lover, eyes dark as Keith’s lidded.

It was nice, being held gently. Not the kind of embrace that suggested he was made of glass, but one that was careful and made him feel like he was worth the grandest treasure in the world.

He was falling for this man, and he was falling _hard_.

It hit him hard, breath wheezing out of his lungs when Hunk finally pulled away. Dazed, he couldn’t do much other than stare at him, dewy eyed and drenched to the bone and yet seeing nothing but the most perfect of human beings in front of him.

-

Keith stubbornly tried to ignore the strange ache he got in his chest every time that Hunk looked at him, but it was a hard thing to do with the new way that the other man tended to glance over at him with unspoken _something_ on his features. He’d always been warm and friendly, but now there was a genuine fondness every time that he saw Keith coming in for his dutiful shift in the late evenings. Some days he would be there even earlier than usual just so that he could help Keith wash and put away the dishes, an easy familiarity falling between them.

He’d never had this kind of relationship before.

Shiro had wedged himself through Keith’s cracks, but Hunk was the _sun_ , pulling Keith into his orbit and showering him in a warmth that was unfamiliar and new. He accepted Keith for who he was and what he was willing to offer and never overstepped a boundary. The perfect gentleman, he always asked permission before taking Keith’s palm into his hand and peppering light kisses across the flesh, causing Keith’s cheeks to flush with color without fail.

It was new. Terrifying. Exhilarating. It felt like he could take on the world and dance amongst the stars every time he was with Hunk, the sensation lasting long after they parted ways in the evenings.

-

Hunk had given Keith the address he was staying at some time into the new relationship, had taken him there once for a quiet night of lying together on the bed and enjoying the other’s company. But the nights led to Keith appearing at Hunk’s flat after he finished the shows at the Moulin Rouge, freshly bathed, arms tight over his chest because the rooms at the Moulin Rouge were too large, too empty and too much a reminder of the life he led.

Hunk didn’t say anything to the hour or Keith’s faintly pinched expression, welcoming him in with a yawn and a warm embrace as he led them both to bed. Neither of them later spoke of the new arrangement, but it was a general assumption that Keith would, one way or another, end up sleeping next to Hunk; his head tucked halfway under one arm and a leg entwined with the other man’s.

It was the most rested Keith had ever felt in his life.

-

Hunk shared the thoughtful musings of his former husband under the cover of the warm blanket draped around them, twining their hands together on the balcony under the stars.

The emotional distance between them that had eventually driven them apart, societal expectations causing Hunk so much distress that he’d no choice but to sign the divorce papers before packing his meager belongings and vanishing from the town he’d spent much of his life in.

“I loved the _idea_ of him more than the reality.” He admitted quietly, a wry grin on his features. “But I don’t regret it. He was a good friend while it lasted.”

“Like I’m a good friend?” Keith asked, a twist to his lips. Jealousy coiled in his belly, but he beat it down ruthlessly. Hunk was being so open and honest and trusting him with this- the least he could do was not act like a complete ass because of it.

“You are so much more than that to me, Keith.” Hunk rumbled beneath Keith’s chest, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You’re worth the world and deserve everything good.”

He wasn’t, but nonetheless it was enough to make something warm curl in his chest. He leaned into Hunk’s broad chest further, hiding his smile behind a corner of the blanket. Hunk chuckled, hand running through the long strands of black gently and scratching at Keith’s scalp. Hunk loved playing with his hair for some reason, always wanting to twist it into simple knots and styles in the privacy of their room and laughing if it turned out terribly wrong.

Simple pleasures.

“It’s going to rain tomorrow.” Keith said instead, catching the telltale signs on the horizon.

“Probably.” The larger man agreed. “We should get back inside before we fall asleep. I, for one, have no intention of waking to raindrops on my face.”

“Carry me.” Keith groaned, petulant.

Hunk quirked a brow at him.

“Please?”

Hunk shook his head, neatly gathering Keith into his arms and taking them both to bed, pulling the blankets over them both before pressing a kiss to Keith’s forehead and falling silent. It took a while for him to fall asleep as well, thoughts turning slowly about in his mind restlessly.

_

The day came all too soon that the Duke finally made his arrival.

Apparently, he had been in the Americas before arriving in Paris, but those were only the rumors that Keith heard floating about the Moulin Rouge.

Lotor was even more overbearing than usual, snapping at every dancer who so much as crossed his path and leaving more than one of the younger girls in tears. Axca and Narti followed close behind, the pair smoothing over the ruffled feathers that their esteemed leader was leaving in his wake.

Keith was summoned to the main hall by Ezor, who couldn’t stop wringing her hands, dainty features pinched with some measure of tension. Likely thanks to everyone else being so on edge, she had picked up on the different mood going around and here they were.

Instead of going to the main hall, Keith was led to the expansive sitting rooms that Lotor tended to use for his own… _personal_ reasons.

“Lotor and the Duke are waiting for you.” She whispered lowly, gaze darting between Keith and the door. “Please, just. Try not to do anything rash, Keith.”

He looked at her, took in the soft pastels she was wearing, her long hair pinned back in her almost natural ginger curls. Saw how nervous she was and nodded once before knocking and entering the room.

Nothing about the Duke was small or unassuming. Not that he’d expected the man to be, considering what he’d heard about him so far. But this was on another level entirely. The man leaning over Lotor’s desk looked like he had crawled out from the belly of a beast and donned the skin of whomever used to live inside the body. Tall, hulking, pressed into a suit that did not suit him at all, Keith warily approached the pair across the room. There was something just not right about the stranger.

“Keith. So lovely you could join us. I was telling Sendak about our famous Le Chat Noir and of course, he wanted to meet you.”

The back of Keith’s neck prickled as he dared cross gazes with the Duke- Sendak. A scar took up one side of his face, the false glow of a glass eye reflecting back at him. Perhaps once he could have been considered handsome. Now, all Keith could see was a wolf walking amongst the sheep.

“A cross-dresser.”

Keith resisted the urge to curl his lip, leaving his expression as neutral as he hoped he could. The weight of the blade against his thigh was tempting, every inch of him screaming that his man was danger and he needed to get out of there as quickly as he was able.

“Keith’s skills are invaluable to the Moulin Rouge, as I am sure you can tell by the income we bring in.” Lotor said silkily, the words a clear warning to not step over a line. “He is also cast in the latest production we’ve been working on. The opening night is expected to be one of the biggest of the Moulin Rouge.”

“Hn.” Sendak looked Keith over. It was part disinterest, part something that Keith couldn’t identify, and it made him even more uneasy. Lotor’s jaw looked like he was one more clench away from breaking half of his teeth, and his gaze was fixed carefully on Sendak. It was a side of the man that Keith hadn’t been witness to before.

At least, not when it involved him. He had seen it once or twice in the past in regard to some of the girls who were in less… stable relationships. When he’d confront the men who sauntered in as though they were at market looking for a new purchase rather than their lover.

It was an interesting feeling knowing that Lotor would go so far to protect _him_.

He would definitely be sitting down to unpack that little nugget of epiphany.

“Interesting.” Sendak finally concluded, turning his attention back to Lotor. “I believe you and I have some business to discuss.”

It was a clear dismissal, but Keith still glanced to Lotor to see if that was the case.

A curt nod informed him that it was.

Keith retreated as quickly as he was able to make it look like he wasn’t outright fleeing from the room, but it was a close thing. He didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until he made it back to the main hall, where most of the other dancers seemed to have congregated, falling in line with Shiro and Matt and not saying a word when he received concerned looks.

Something dark had arrived in the Moulin Rouge, and Keith didn’t know what that meant for the rest of them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to InklingDancer and Cookie for creating the art in this chapter!

It became very clear rather quickly that Sendak’s version of studying the Moulin Rouge _really_ meant that he would immediately take control- or attempt to- of the entire inner workings of the place. It wasn’t set in stone yet, but it seemed like the man was already a little too interested, a little _too_ invested with how little time he had spent immersed in their world.

Tensions were already beginning to rise. With Lotor and his ladies already on high alert, combined with the usual stress and preparations for a large-scale production such as Spectacular Spectacular, the only solace for most of them was to throw themselves headlong into rehearsals. Unfortunately, even rehearsals weren’t safe. Sendak, and by extension Lotor were nearly breathing down everyone’s necks during the long hours of rehearsing. Even Keith, who had seen his fair share of large shows and pressure to succeed, was beginning to feel the edges of his psyche fraying at the edge.

Hunk was always so close, but by now Keith was practically living as Le Chat Noir with how much time they were all putting into the show. Bruises were beginning to form along his hips from the cinched waists of the corsets and costumes, and the makeup seemed like it was getting harder and harder to remove at the end of the long night of regular business. He had almost broken twice, tempted to just tell Hunk everything and see where it led them, but ultimately Keith couldn’t do it. He was terrified of what it would do, telling Hunk that he had lied to him and that he was _right there_. Within reach almost all day, every day.

It certainly didn’t help that Keith could feel Sendak’s eye on him almost all the time. Calculating, considering, like he was some kind of interesting insect that one might pin to their wall in the name of art. It was stressful, making the added attempt to stay close to those he considered allies. Matt, Shiro, even Narti became solaces whenever he saw the man enter the room, feeling even a slight measure of security in numbers.

Everyone was on edge. It was only a matter of time before someone snapped.

-

Things came to a head when Hunk discovered the bruising along Keith’s waist and ribs. Keith had been changing into one of Hunk’s large loose shirts to ease some of the tension he was still feeling, the warm scent familiar and comfortable, when he heard Hunk suck in a breath sharply. Belatedly, he realized what Hunk probably saw and tried to hide the wince from that realization.

“Keith, what happened?”

“It’s nothing.” He shook his head, pulling the fabric from the too-large shirt down to cover himself.

“It doesn’t look like nothing.” Hunk persisted; brows furrowed. He looked serious- the most Keith had ever seen him look. Which probably should have been the first indicator that neither of them were going to let it go.

“Hunk, let it go. I’m fine.”

“Are you? You’ve been quiet lately. You keep looking over your shoulder like you’re expecting something to happen. Is someone hurting you?”

A worried Hunk was never a good Hunk. He tended to go to the worst scenario, and from there it was a downhill spiral that he couldn’t get himself out of until someone could coax it out of him. But Keith was tired, and he definitely did not have the patience to deal with Hunk being concerned for his well being while he was feeling emotionally fragile.

“What? No!” he immediately threw out, knowing full well that Hunk didn’t believe him for a second, regardless that it was- in a roundabout way- true.

“Keith, please. You can tell me anything. I know it’s hard for you, but I just want to be a part of your world.”

It was exactly the wrong thing to say, and they both knew it the second the words left Hunk’s lips.

“I don’t want you to _get_ wrapped up in my world, Hunk!” he exploded. “It’s bad enough I’m a part of it! If something happened to you because of _me_ …”

“So, what? Am I just supposed to keep worrying about you then? Pretend that everything is fine when you go wherever for work and then show up with bruises? Not know whether or not you’re being hurt when there’s something that I could do to help?” Hunk’s fingers ran though his hair, catching on the yellow tie but so caught up in his words he didn’t notice it.

“You’re supposed to trust me!” Keith snarled, jabbing a finger at Hunk’s chest. “I’ve been doing this for much longer than I’ve known you, and I certainly don’t need your _help_!” Keith spat eyes alit with fire.

Hunk reeled back, the hurt evident on his features.

“And that’s supposed to justify it, then?” he asked quietly, all the fire gone out of him. “Make me feel better that you’re gone half the night and turn up at the crack of dawn? Make me worry that something’s happened to you?”

Keith couldn’t find the words, his chest tight and his throat even more so, hot tears brewing in his eyes.

Hunk shook his head, the fight gone out of him as quickly as it had come.

“Don’t bother trying to explain.” He muttered, grabbing his coat. “I’m going to see Pidge.”

The door closed behind him with finality, leaving Keith standing in the middle of the room with his heart cracking and hot tears choking the life out of him.

___

Hunk returned to a quiet room, closing the door softly behind him.

Pidge had been the best person possible to go and talk to while he was wound up, and she had proven herself even more invaluable in allowing him to vent everything in one fell swoop.

Granted, she had pointed out, in her very matter-of-fact way, that not everyone had had the same upbringing as they had. Which, amongst other things, she managed to state without obviously taking sides.

Personally, Hunk was now certain that she thought they were both in the wrong but trying to calm him down in the heat of the moment, but that was a moment that he could think about later.

In the dark of the room, he sighed, shoulders slumping. It looked like Keith had taken off. Not that he could blame him. The look of utter devastation when Hunk had announced he was leaving. Almost resignation- like he had _expected_ him to leave.

A quiet noise had him freezing up. Hunk’s gaze searched the room before finally landing on none other than Keith. He was curled into the tiny sitting chair, Hunk’s blanket wrapped around him. There were obvious tear tracks dried on his cheeks, what could have been something else at the corner of his mouth, but he was sleeping, if fitfully.

Hunk could count on one hand the number of times that Keith had willingly stayed the night without some measure of cajoling on his part, especially if Hunk wasn’t there. The fact that he had stayed despite how awful it must have been sitting in here alone in the dark was enough to shed the last bit of tension from Hunk’s shoulders.

He loved Keith. Deeply, achingly so. And he tried to hide it, knowing how flighty Keith could be at the best of times, wary of being loved and accepting it. But it didn’t change how he felt, didn’t mean anything different for them despite the argument.

He leaned over, mindful of the sharp angles and pointed elbows, and carefully lifted the smaller man into his arms. In sleep, Keith looked so, painfully young. Doubly so now.

Keith stirred for a moment, a quiet noise of discontent leaving him and further pulling Hunk’s heartstrings, before settling with a noise against his chest. When they woke in the morning Hunk would have a long conversation about boundaries and the like, but for now he was content to soothe some of the hurts they had by gently tucking Keith into bed and settling in behind him, back to back.

___

Of course, it was Keith who suggested it.

“Let’s get married.”

The sun was coming in the window behind him, bathing his features in a soft glow as he looked at Hunk. They were both drowsy and lazing, both of them given a day of rest after so much going on.

Keith couldn’t pretend that he didn’t love Hunk. Wouldn’t, either. And damn the world if they wanted to say something about it. Being happy for one of the first times in his life wasn’t something he was about to let pass by him.

“Married?” Hunk blinked, staring back at Keith like perhaps he’d grown another head.

“I love you.” Keith said quietly. “And I tried to forget about it for a long time, pretend that I didn’t have any measure of feelings toward you, but I can’t. You’re the first good thing to happen to me. You make me feel worth something when I don’t feel worth very much, and I never want to feel that way again. And I know you didn’t have a good marriage in the past, but I can promise to do my best to be the person you need.”

It was one of the longest phrases that Hunk had heard Keith say, but somewhere between his confession of love and everything else his mind had gone oddly blank. More due to the fact that Keith had actually said “I love you” and then promptly gone on to speak of other things as if he had not just made today the best day of his life.

“Hunk?”

“Yes.” He breathed, a slow smile crawling across his features. “Let’s get married.”

“Yeah?” a soft, tentative thing bloomed across Keith’s features. It was like watching the sun come out from behind the clouds after days of rain, like flowers blooming in spring or a warm hearth in the winter.

“Yeah.”

-

“Excellent news, everyone. Another investor has come forward after hearing of our plans for the Spectacular Spectacular show and is offering the funds to turn the Moulin Rouge into a theatre. Duke Sendak has… _graciously_ , agreed to match the amount of the other investor.” Lotor announced from the front of the hall. The beginnings of dark shadows were forming under his eyes, and there was a tightness to his jaw as he spoke, but there was something to him that suggested that it was not excellent news at all.

Keith glanced over to Shiro, his arms crossed over his chest, to see the other man chewing on his lip and watching the reactions of the other dancers thoughtfully. Matt looked simultaneously thrilled and horrified as he and several of the riggers began muttering to themselves, gesturing up at the ceiling. Likely already thinking of the work to come with the renovation of the dance hall.

In the back of the room, Keith knew, Sendak was lurking. That was all he seemed to be doing. Watching them all, studying what they did and when. It left him uneasy. And if Sendak knew Zarkon, then maybe there was something more to this than they all thought.

“-the renovations will begin by the end of the week.” Lotor finished saying, gesturing to the room around them. “I expect you all to continue your rehearsals here for the duration of the process. Thank you.”

He nodded, excusing himself wordlessly, trailed out of the room by Axca and Zethrid.

Hunk and the troupe were all clustered together as usual, Pidge beaming as she began barking out orders to the group. Ryan and Ina both were looking attentive, pointing at Lance and James’ current costumes that they had donned in preparation for the day’s delayed rehearsal and looking like they were already bringing up new ideas.

Hunk looked content- he was grinning as Pidge nudged his shoulder, tugging on the scarf he wore. Keith had given it to him a week prior- it was a dark yellow to complement his yellow hairband that he wore. It was an expense that had been well worth it, in Keith’s opinion. It wasn’t often that he spent the money he made with the Moulin Rouge’s contract, but if it was for Hunk he could justify it.

“He makes you happy, huh.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Keith said automatically. His heart wasn’t really in it, though.

“So, how long?”

“Long enough.” He conceded. “When?”

“Suspected for a couple of weeks, but seeing that look confirmed it.” Shiro smirked. “I’m not quite as unobservant as you take me for, Keith.”

Neither was he as observant as he thought, considering that it had been several months, but he wasn’t about to tell him that in public. Later perhaps, when he told him that they were to be wed.

The thought cheered him up more than he thought it would.

**-**

They were married quietly.

One of Pidge’s troupe- Ina- had been asked to be the priest. And, as luck would have it, she had somehow, somewhere become ordained as a priest.

(Hunk blamed it on the revolution going on, but as Ina was tight lipped and unwilling to answer any questions, no one asked.)

But there was something in the simple joy that lit up Keith’s entire face, the look of wonder as he watched the slim band go on his finger that settled some deep unease tucked away in Hunk’s chest. Neither of them had bothered to tell anyone to dress up, but Hunk could see the effort that Keith had put into looking decent. Likewise, he had dug out a newer shirt that had no need for repair, his hair braided rather than just pulled back as he normally would.

Pidge had offered her loft due to the small number of people present- as well as the rather horrifying amount of spirits that she had on hand in case of an occasion such as this.

Shiro and Matt were both present, as well as the troupe. The second that the first cork was popped, Keith watched the group fall into disarray. Shiro and Matt both made valiant attempts to woo Lance, who looked as though his brain had fried the second that not just one but two rather attractive men were flirting with him. The last that Keith had seen, Lance was seated on Shiro’s lap and regaling the pair with some tale or another that they were riveted by. Perhaps due to the good spirits of the evening, Keith thought that Lance was quite the storyteller. Able to weave some fantastical story out of nothing. Not to the extent that Hunk could- Keith had seen the proof in his own hands reading the script for the show- but nonetheless still talented.

Every handful of minutes, someone would begin chanting about the toasts, and kissing his new husband, or some other nonsense the later in the night it became. But Keith didn’t care. He had gone from nothing- bitter, world weary and guarding his heart from anything that could heal him, to being married to one of the most incredible people in this life. And looking at Hunk, who was damn near _glowing_ under the lights, one hand clasped around Keith’s, lit a spark he didn’t think he had.

He would never let anything happen to him- not while Keith was still breathing.

-

Pidge reconvened with Lotor, Keith and Shiro the day the renovations started with a rewritten script and a disgruntled expression.

“Considering that this show was scripted and designed for the dance hall, we’re going to have to reconsider almost every aspect of it in regard to a stage.” She said immediately, unrolling the plans for the new floor plan. “We were going to have the majority of the floor to work with for the acrobatics, but with the new elevated stage we are going to have to have most of the dancers there and fewer everything else anywhere else. It also means that Le Chat Noir is not the center stage act as we originally discussed.”

“That’s fine.” Keith said.

“To you, perhaps.” Lotor sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “However, the investors coming in to see the performance are going to be expecting to see Le Chat Noir in the thick of it. And with everything else that has been going on, I can only imagine what Sendak will have to say about it when the news reaches his ears.”

“With the new floorplan it’s not going to work, Lotor. I’ve tried to think of any way I can to make it happen, but it’s not conceivable for your original ideas.” Pidge shook her head. “Now if we were to cast him as the lead with the newly changed script, we could probably arrange something.”

“How much would that take, though?” Shiro asked, brows furrowed. “There’s always some measure of safety while he’s suspended above the crowd, but we’ve all seen what can happen if anyone gets the opportunity.”

“Unless I pass on the role to someone else.” Keith suggested. “I’ll be honest. I hate this work. Loathe it most of the time. It was a means to an end when I was fresh off the streets. But let’s be fair- there’s only so long I can hold the role before I can’t pull it off or if I die.”

“But you’re one of a kind in the Moulin Rouge. If you were to leave, we would never be able to recover the funds lost.” Lotor denied.

“I’m not saying no Chat Noir, Lotor. I’m suggesting we replace the _character_ of Le Chat Noir. Pass the mantle onto someone who can carry it forward.” Keith argued, crossing his arms. “I never wanted it- God only knows who wouldn’t want to be the new Le Chat Noir.”

And he had just the person in mind, if Lotor would just agree to the idea, already.

“Let me get this straight.” Lotor said, holding up his hand when Keith moved to talk. “You’re suggesting to step down from being Le Chat Noir and handing it off to someone else. Meaning that you’re planning on leaving your contract.”

“I know it’s coming to an end soon anyway, don’t play that card, Lotor.” Keith growled, crossing his arms. “I was never meant to play the role- you pushed me into it when I was young and didn’t know any better.”

“And I suppose now you do?”

“I’ve learned some things recently.” Keith said evenly. “I know that you try a lot harder than you think to be a half decent person- I was just too stuck in my own head to realize it until now. I know that you actually give a damn about your ladies in waiting, and I know that you’re a lot more worried about changing the Moulin Rouge than you should be. And yes, I know that becoming a theatre is new and big and could bring about the end of this place as everyone knows it, but you seem to have a rather talented troupe and writer willing to work with you regardless of that fact. So let’s try to figure something out instead of trying to convince me to stay, because I’ve already made up my mind.”

With that, he sat down in one of the chairs by the desk, raising his brow at the baffled expressions that everyone in the room was giving him. (Perhaps other than Pidge, but even she was giving him an appraising look).

“Let’s get to work, then.” Shiro broke the silence first, joining Keith and glancing over the plans.

“You’ve changed, Keith.” Lotor said next to his ear as he too leaned over the new floorplans and script. “And I would say it’s for the better.”

He didn’t reply, but he did allow himself a small smile at the words. Everything was aligning itself for once in his life, and he was going to enjoy it for as long as he was able.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

“What do you mean, Le Chat Noir is going to _leave?”_ Sendak snarled, near feral with the odd gleam of his glass eye reflecting across his features in the dim light.

“It isn’t uncommon for a dancer to decide to seek fortune elsewhere.” Lotor retorted stiffly, shoulders tense. The hand around his glass of whiskey looked more likely to break it than to down the entire thing in front of the man across the desk top. “By choice or not, we are hardly jailors here, Lord Sendak.”

“Allow me to make myself clear. This is not _just_ a dancer. This is the star of the show- the only thing keeping the Moulin Rouge afloat!”

“I warn you to be careful of which words next leave your lips, lest I have to cut your tongue from you, dear duke.” Lotor said silkily. “My father may not be here, but let us not forget to whom the Moulin Rouge belongs. And I cannot abide anyone speaking ill of it.”

Against the walls of the room, Zethrid and Axca exchanged looks, Zethrid’s arms flexing in her silken shirt. The same limbs that lifted her lovers into the air on stage were just as likely to snap a neck if only the command were to be given.

Sendak seemed to realize that as well. His features twisted, lip curling, yet still managed to grit out, “Of course.”

The dark fire in his remaining eye, however, spoke of dark promise as he excused himself with a barely contained growl, stalking out of the room in a flurry of cloak and malice. The second the door slammed shut behind him, Lotor closed his eyes and downed the entire drink in his grasp, clearing his throat at the sharp aftertaste.

“He seems pissed.” Zethrid commented dryly.

“He is.” Lotor said wearily, pouring himself another drink. “I fear that he may do something drastic in order to take over the Moulin Rouge. I know better than to think he would merely be interested as an investor in this place. Especially not with Le Chat Noir being as popular as she is.”

“Even though it’s a lie?” Axca quirked a brow.

“Especially because of it.” Lotor replied. “I would advice all of you to be on alert. I fear we may have awakened something we do not yet know the reach of.”

“Of course.”

____

The sun woke Keith up.

Not by shining in his eyes- the light fabric against the window was enough to block the worst rays from shining directly on his face whenever he happened to roll over in his sleep. No, this particular morning he woke not unlike a cat from a nap, slowly stretching out and basking in the gentle heat that radiated across his shoulders. Blinking, he felt the stupid smile pull at the edges of his lips as he took in Hunk. He’d gotten the day off from the restaurant, and had thusly fallen right into bed after rehearsals and had not moved an inch since.

He looked more at ease like this, features relaxed into something gentler, if that was even possible. Hunk was already one of the most precious people he knew in his life. The band sitting on either of their fingers attested to that.

Keith was married.

He was _married_.

A little thrill ran through him at the thought.

He’d never thought he would make it this far as a kid, always wondering where the next meal would come from, always wondering about the what if’s and the other primal survival instincts that he lived by so that he wouldn’t just be another one of the nameless deaths on the streets.

And for so long he’d stayed that way, happy to keep anyone who dared show him a lick of kindness firmly out of his mind and his heart. He firmly believed that everyone in his life would eventually leave- even though, time and time again, people like Shiro had proven him wrong.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all, he mused, reaching out to brush a loose hair out of Hunk’s face. To be in a partnership that they would both be responsible for- to laugh and love together and forge their new life together rather than dragging themselves through it on their own.

Hunk was, without a doubt, the best thing to ever happen to him.

Even if Keith was still hiding himself from him.

It didn’t matter. Hunk was his. Someone who would stand next to him for anything and everything. And no one would be able to tear them apart- Keith would fight to the death with anyone who tried.

Lost in thought, he hadn’t realized he’d woken Hunk until a large hand twined with his, warm brown eyes silently asking if he was alright.

“I’m okay.” He promised, offering his husband a small smile. “Just lost in my thoughts.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Hunk teased, the laugh lines in his face creasing with the words.

“You’re a rather rude husband.” Keith pouted.

“And you’re still far too sarcastic for your own good.” Hunk replied, stretching languidly. “Do you have work today?”

“Unfortunately.” Keith sighed, thinking of how arduous the rehearsals had become with trying to work in the same space as the renovations.

“One day I’ll have to steal you and show you the Moulin Rouge. They’ve decided to turn it into a theatre, you know.” Hunk hummed.

“I’ve heard. Are they still treating you well? No one has been untoward to you?”

“Well, I suspect my husband hasn’t been entirely honest about what he does for work. There’s a rather attractive person who always seems to be watching me. Le Chat Noir?”

Keith tensed for a long moment before sighing.

“Are you upset that I never told you?” he asked, voice small.

Hunk heaved a sigh, his breath brushing across Keith’s shoulder as he wrapped an arm around his waist.

“I’m disappointed that you didn’t trust me to tell me, but I understand why you would want to keep it a secret.” Hunk replied. “I suspected it might have been you after we began seeing one another.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” Keith said. “And I know there are people who would take the chance to hurt you if it meant that they could get to me. Being in the spotlight like I am… brings unwarranted attention.”

Sendak being one of them, if the strange looks that he’d been getting lately were any indication.

“Is that why you have that knife with you all the time?”

“In part. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember- I think it might have been my mother’s before she left.” Keith shrugged. “I may hold no love for her, but it _is_ a part of my heritage.”

“So some of those stories I’ve heard about you…?”

“Yes, I’ve been known to deal with a particular class of men who think it’s entirely appropriate to treat Le Chat Noir more like some kind of trophy than a person.” Keith confirmed. “Luckily, my husband has been nothing but absolutely charming, so I think he’s safe.”

“Oh thank God.” Hunk heaved a sigh of relief. “Because I would rather not have to explain why I’m missing appendages to Pidge, and you and I both know how she can get.”

“Do I ever. She takes after her brother.” Keith shook his head. “Speaking of, you and I need to get up. We have a long day ahead of us and I would like to stop at a café before we head over to the Moulin Rouge.”

“For that coffee you seem to enjoy so much?”

“I feel rather accused right now.” Keith stuck his tongue out.

Hunk only chuckled, pressing a chaste kiss to Keith’s forehead before rolling over and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His broad shoulders creased in the warm light in the room- Keith sighed contentedly at the view, remaining where he was for a few more blessed moments.

He was a lucky man, indeed.

-

Lotor finally gave the go ahead to Keith’s suggestion of finding a new Le Chat Noir after rehearsals had concluded for the day, pulling him aside and alerting him to the development with a watchful eye over their shoulders. Sendak had been suspiciously absent as of late- they knew he was still somewhere in the Moulin Rouge, but he had made himself scarce after he and Lotor had had their disagreement. (Few knew about the encounter, and Lotor was quite content to keep it that way until circumstances changed.)

So, following that, Keith asked Lance to meet him at Pidge’s loft- something that was usually just fine with the woman since she already had something of an open-door policy regarding those she considered friends and family.

Which led him to this.

“Wait.” Lance blinked, staring back and forth between Pidge and Keith like they’d grown another head. “You’re telling me that all this time Le Chat Noir has been _Keith!?”_

“It wasn’t my idea, trust me.” Keith muttered, crossing his arms.

“But Le Chat Noir is a woman! A really pretty woman!” Lance continued shrilly. “I’ve looked up to her since her debut!”

“Well, _she_ was a _he_ all along, so get used to it.” Keith rolled his eyes. “Look, I know you and I hardly get along like the rest of the troupe, but I’m here to ask you if you would be interested in a more permanent position at the Moulin Rouge.”

“What kind of permanent position?” Lance asked warily, eyes narrowing.

“I’m leaving the contract I have with the Moulin Rouge. Meaning that they’re going to be down a performer. However, I’ve managed to convince Lotor that rather than lose the coin that Le Chat Noir brings in, we find a new Le Chat Noir entirely. And I thought you would be a good fit.”

It would have been worth it in that moment if they had a camera- Lance’s jaw dropped and his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as he started stammering nonsense.

“But why _me?_ ” he finally managed to spit out.

“Because as much as you annoy the absolute hell out of me, you have the talent, experience and stage presence to pull it off.” Keith said reluctantly. “And you have a similar figure- you would be able to look more feminine in the corsets and skirts than anyone else I could think of.”

“And uh, let’s not forget that you would get Shiro as your bodyguard.” Pidge coughed into her hand, looking entirely too innocent as Lance sputtered indignantly in her direction. “And Matt isn’t going anywhere either, so you would have _both_ of the idiot men you’re infatuated with in your every day life.”

“If it makes you feel any better, they’re the exact same toward you.” Keith offered. “Shiro tripped into a post the other day.”

“Right after you finished doing a full split mid air.” Pidge added helpfully. “Matt almost fell out of the rafters.”

Lance stared at them both in bewilderment. Keith couldn’t find it in him to hold it against him. It was a lot to take in all at once.

“So let me get this straight.” Lance groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Keith is actually Le Chat Noir, which means he’s been lying to Hunk about being at work the entire time even though they’ve been seeing each other every day without Hunk knowing it. And now that you’re married- which is why I think you’re probably bringing it up- you want someone else to take over for you in some twisted way of repaying Lotor for everything that he’s done. And now you’re trying to convince me just because I might have some unresolved feelings toward Shiro and Matt?”

“Pretty much.”

“Yep.”

“I give up. You win.” Lance bemoaned. “You managed to one up me in every way and I’m only just finding out about it now.”

“Are you in?”

“Yes. Fine. I’ll do it.” He agreed.

“Don’t sound so excited.” Pidge snorted. “You’ll be making enough money to support your family back home for the rest of your life. If you want it, of course. Lotor might be a pain in the arse, but he pays well.”

Keith nodded reluctantly.

“See?” Pidge cooed, patting Lance’s shoulder.

“Lotor will want to see you as soon as possible to get the new contracts signed and sorted out.” Keith said. “But we’re going to have to be careful. We’ve all seen Sendak lurking- Lotor won’t say it directly, but something’s been bothering him. I suspect it has something to do with me and my role as Le Chat Noir.”

“And there’s the catch.” Lance crowed. “You want me to get involved with one of the creepiest Dukes in Paris knocking on Lotor and the Moulin Rouge’s doors. I don’t suppose you know if I’m going to end up dead before this all blows over?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s entirely out of the realm, but if anything happens, he’ll probably be coming after me. Not you.” Keith admitted. “I’m not saying it’s easy, but this is the right thing to do. I want a life with Hunk somewhere far from here. Where I don’t have to worry about being discovered as Le Chat Noir or having to work in the cover of night.”

Lance’s shoulders slumped as he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he turned on his foot and began pacing, muttering under his breath and ignoring Pidge and Keith. Pidge didn’t look terribly worried- she’d had years of practice dealing with him under her belt. Keith couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty that he’d put them in this position, but the decision had already been made and now he had to lie in the bed.

“Say this all goes sideways and Sendak does go after you. What happens then?”

“I’ll kill him.”

“Of course you will.” Pidge grunted. “Take it easy, Keith, it’s not going to happen.”

“You’re not always at the Moulin Rouge. Something is going on between Lotor and Sendak, and it’s nothing good. Sendak is always watching everything- if I didn’t know any better, I would say he’s going to get Lotor out of the way and take the damn thing for himself.” He growled back. “It’s part of the reason I want to get out of there while I can.”

“Have you told Hunk?” Lance asked.

Keith’s lips thinned.

“That would be a no, then. Do you _plan_ on telling your husband that you want to get out of Paris in case a crazy Duke decides he wants to go mad and kill everyone, or is that unimportant in the grand scheme of things?” Pidge said dryly. “You can’t pretend that none of this is happening, even if it might not be.”

“I’m not going to worry him over something that might not happen.” Keith snapped. “It’s bad enough that I’ve had to lie to him before- I’m not going to do it again!”

He couldn’t think about what could happen. If everything turned sideways and came crashing down, he wanted Hunk to be the one to get out. Keith would pick Hunk every time.

His heart was pounding in his ears as the tell-tale signs of one of his attacks slammed into him, his breath wheezing out of him a moment later as he stumbled sideways. Pidge and Lance yelled something, but it sounded like it was coming through several layers of fabric or a thick wall. Trying to inhale felt like someone had blocked all of his airways, vision blurring as he retched and curled into himself, willing it to end.

It did end, eventually. It felt like years since he’d last managed to suck in a breath, coughing into the shoulder he was leaning against and wincing as he shuddered through the aftershocks.

“So, Keith.” Pidge started. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell us?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: There is a very brief mentions/reference/allusion to rape at the very end of this chapter. If this is something that could trigger you, skip the piece starting at-
> 
> "Keith should have known to be rightly suspicious with Sendak’s rare appearances."
> 
> Despite it only being the last two sentences, I don't want anyone to trigger themselves accidentally.

_Some Time Ago_

Keith knew from a young age that he wasn’t quite as healthy as the rest of the kids he encountered on the street. He was struck with sudden bouts of breathlessness, pain in his chest that rattled him to his bones and left him in a weary and worn aftermath. Maybe it had been part of the reason that Lotor had decided to pick him of all the kids on the street- seeing something of himself in Keith.

Or maybe that was all a part of his imagination and he was going completely insane.

What he did know was that it seemed to come in bouts. He could go days, weeks, months even with nothing, and then out of nowhere it would come slamming back into him with a vengeance.

Keith’s first _bad_ incident came right after his and Hunk’s first real fight. The tightening in his chest was his only warning before he doubled over, gasping for breath. By the time he’d managed to drag himself into Hunk’s tiny chair and pull the patterned blanket over him, the worst had already passed. It left him exhausted to his very core, eyes slipping closed before he could convince himself to leave.

Something to do with his heart or his lungs- Keith had never learned and no doctor had ever been able to tell him much more than that. Well, that and how highly unlikely it was that he would make it to his thirtieth year, if that. He’d gone years without even knowing that much- it wasn’t until after his contract had begun with the Moulin Rouge he had the coin to see doctors.

He’d been a street rat, eating what scraps he could beg and steal and getting into quite a few things he shouldn’t have. The fact that he’d made it to twenty was a miracle in itself.

But that was before he’d found Hunk.

Shiro was a different story- he’d grown up ill and lost an arm to infection in the earlier years of his life. He understood Keith in ways that only other street survivors knew.

But _Hunk_ …

Hunk was sunlight incarnate, his heart laid bare on his sleeves. Gentle, caring, and overbearing in the best ways because he actually _cared_.

Keith still hadn’t mustered the courage to tell him the truth, the whirlwind of their newfound love story too bright and blinding in the immediacy of the day. How was he even supposed to tell him that he had an expiration date that could come calling at any moment? It certainly wasn’t fair to keep it from him, Keith knew, but he was too much of a coward to come forward with it. He’d managed to confess that he was Le Chat Noir- in part due to Hunk figuring it out on his own- but that was different.

It hadn’t been terribly difficult to see that something had changed in Keith around the Moulin Rouge. Oh, he was still entirely disgusted by the work that he did- hated it with every fibre of his being, actually; but he played the part and did it well, making his money just like the rest. But aside from the work, outside of the role he played, he was almost downright pleasant in comparison. It was a fine line, but considering how long some of the dancers had known him it was a change clear as day.

Shiro had suspected, but to be fair the man was utterly useless when it came to expressing his own affections, so Keith hadn’t been terribly concerned about the matter. Thankfully, he hadn’t asked any questions, though he had no doubt that if given the opportunity Shiro would pounce on it like a starving animal.

There were few places for Keith to go. He rarely confided in anyone as it was, and with everything that had been going on he turned to one of the only people he trusted and who he knew would keep his secrets.

He confided in Narti; the mute and blind woman offered company and support, her listening one of the only things she was able to give. She wasn’t as judgemental in the ways that some of the others were. Where in the past men had realized her handicaps, they turned tail or deigned see her as a pretty decoration for their arms and households. She rose above them, spurning any further attempts of courting as she found her own path.

Which led to their current situation.

Narti was seated cross-legged against the wall, clad in her performance garb for the evening. Dark glittering stockings, a slit tunic that fell around her calves and her dark hair pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. As casual as any as they leaned against the wall of Keith’s dressing room, Keith spilling nearly all of his insecurities to a woman he could go so far as to call a friend under certain circumstances.

Kova, Narti’s near-scrawny runt of a cat, was perched on Keith’s knees; basking in the hand that scratched behind one tawny ear, a low rattling rumble of a purr a small balm on his frayed nerves.

“And I see him every day at the kitchen, and he’s so good and light and his _arms_ -“ Keith rambled on, his thoughts whirling through his mind. “It’s been weeks and the only time I’ve spoken to him were because I was a complete prick to him and he was only trying to help. But I don’t know how to accept that because everyone just wants to use me!”

Narti huffed out a sigh, shaking her head, before grabbing Keith’s hand and tracing out letters on his palm.

_Calm down._

“I don’t know what to do. I’ve never let people in. I don’t know how to.” He protested, resisting the urge to beat his head against the wall. “How am I even supposed to talk to him?”

_You’ll figure it out. You always do._

“But I don’t know _how_.” Keith groaned. “I’m not good with words.”

_Neither am I, and yet I figured something out._

“That’s different.”

Narti shrugged at that, moving to stand with a languid stretch toward the ceiling, something popping as she patted Keith on the shoulder. Obviously she had done everything she could on her part to make him see sense- after that, it was all on Keith.

* * *

_Now_

Keith didn’t, as Pidge had asked, have anything else that he wanted to tell them. Nothing that wouldn’t stir up more questions than not, and definitely nothing that he wanted to bring up in light of the possibility of everything going sideways as it was.

Lance looked shaken, as he was sure they all did. After all, Keith had managed to keep his condition hidden from almost everyone for this long. He didn’t have any ideas of changing that outside of what he absolutely had to. Or, in this instance, that he was unable to prevent something from happening.

“I’m fine.” He managed to whisper shakily, getting back to his feet and feeling like a newborn lamb.

“You sure as hell don’t look like you’re fine.” Pidge snapped back. “Is this the real reason you’re leaving the Moulin Rouge? You’re sick?”

“I’ve been sick my whole damn life, Pidge. It isn’t anything new.” He snapped back. “You think I wouldn’t have stayed if it was?”

“Do you know what it is?”

“No one does.” He managed, wobbling on his feet as he tugged his coat back on, determined to beat a hasty retreat and get some air. He needed to be alone, and being elbow deep in dishes seemed like the best idea for the moment. Granted, the restaurant seemed miles away now, after an attack, but he was stubborn. He would be fine. “Lance, Lotor should have the paperwork ready for you to sign by the next rehearsal.”

“Keith-“

“Just leave it _alone_ , Katie.” He said quietly, hand on the door. “Please.”

“Fine.” She deflated. “But go home. You should be with Hunk right now, not alone with whatever’s going on in your head.”

He wanted to deny that he wouldn’t be going elsewhere, but he was tired. Bone weary, and feeling it more now that the momentary adrenaline had vanished from him. The kitchen could wait until tomorrow. Crawling into bed with Hunk sounded much more appealing than it had only moments before.

He grunted something that might have been an answer, closing the door softly behind him.

* * *

It was a long, restless night that Keith spent lying next to Hunk. His thoughts felt like they were throwing themselves at the forefront of his mind on top of the other aches, pains and repeated moments that occurred during the night. His chest was aching fiercely even after the pain usually would have left him, fear keeping him awake lest he not open his eyes again.

By the time the day dawned, grey and bleak, Keith was reluctant to pull himself out of the warmth of the blankets and face the day. He would need to speak to Lotor, given that Lance had agreed to be his successor. Not to mention that they would need to fill out the severance papers regarding his contract, survive the grueling rehearsals and somehow doggedly avoid Sendak without alerting Hunk that something was amiss.

Easier to think about than it would be to put into practice, but Keith was no stranger to putting on an act. 

Despite the pain, he managed to crawl out of bed and wrap his arms around Hunk’s waist as he tried to get dressed. Usually he wasn’t so affectionate, but there was a chill in the air that had him looking for a heat source. He felt more exposed than usual- the lingering words from the night before were still rattling around his mind, as they had been for most of the night.

“Sleep well?” he mumbled into Hunk’s shoulder.

“Mm.” Hunk hummed. “Better once you got back from talking to Lance and Pidge.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Keith teased. “Will I see you later? Lunch, maybe?”

“You know where to find me.” Hunk agreed, turning and wrapping his much larger frame around Keith like a living blanket. “I’m certain that by the time they’re done with me I’ll need to make a run for it.”

“You’ll live.” Keith quirked his lips. “If anyone is going to need rescuing, it’ll be me. I have to talk to Lotor and get some paperwork sorted out.”

“The dirty bastards.” Hunk tutted- Keith could hear the smile he was hiding as he ducked his head into Keith’s hair.

“Nope. You don’t get any more sympathy. Laughing at your poor husband.” Keith pouted, pushing Hunk away half heartedly. He grabbed the shirt he’d laid on the foot of the bed the night before and shoved his arms through it. “I’ll see you for lunch.”

“Deal.” Hunk smiled, pecking Keith as he went by. “I’ll be there shortly.”

Keith shot a sultry look over his shoulder as the door closed behind him, barking out a laugh at the strangled noise Hunk made behind him.

* * *

Keith should have known to be rightly suspicious with Sendak’s rare appearances.

The second he had turned the corner from Lotor’s quarters, feeling lighter than he had in years, a large hand closed around his throat; another clamped itself over his mouth as he immediately screamed, writhing against the chest he was pinned against.

Immediate panic settled into focus as he recognized the expensive cologne that Sendak wore, followed by primal fear as he realized that he was being dragged down a mostly unused service hall. His knife was strapped to his thigh, but with the way he was currently pinned Sendak would immediately know he was going for it.

“You make a single noise or I see that pretty knife of yours and I’ll slit your throat right after I make you watch me do it to your lover.” His voice hissed into Keith’s ear.

Keith stiffened, Sendak chuckling darkly as they made it to the end of the hall. A momentary pause and Keith was thrown into a dark room, a low cry startled out of him as he landed on something sharp. A corner of an old chair or dressing table, if he’d have to guess.

A light flickered on above them, revealing the small storage room that Sendak had chosen for his ambush.

“I know that you’ve found a lover in that writer. Likely wed him, if I were to guess.” Sendak growled, the click of the lock ominous in the mutinous silence Keith was exuding off of him in waves. “I have a handful of men who have been keeping an eye on you and, well, you live quite the life, Monsieur Kogane.”

The false eye glinted under the light.

“Lotor and his ailing father are both fools if they allow Le Chat Noir to leave the Moulin Rouge. And I am here to warn you once and only once- do _not_ test my patience. Lotor is soon to realize that I know more about him than he thinks. The deeds to the Moulin Rouge will be mine within the day, and you _will_ be the star of the show.”

“I’ve already completed the severance.” Keith spit back. “Even if you were to hold me here, the papers would be invalid.”

“Unless the severance were to go missing.” Sendak chuckled lowly. “This is not the first time I’ve dealt with your ilk, Monsieur Kogane. Rather sad, how easily some can be persuaded to work for a price. No, Lotor doesn’t yet realize it, but I have already won. This place will be mine, and I will finally have the last laugh over Zarkon.”

“If this is just a battle of two rich old men, I want nothing to do with it.” Keith growled, hauling himself upright and wincing at the sharp stabbing pain in his hip. He must have hit it harder than he’d thought when he landed. “I don’t fear you, Sendak.”

“But you do fear for your _husband_ , that is clear.” Sendak smiled, all teeth. “It truly is amazing what people will do when the threat of death hangs over their loved ones, isn’t it?”

“Don’t touch him.” Keith hissed.

“Or what?” Sendak mocked. “Who will believe you- a poor, orphaned little crossdressing _whore_ from one of the poorest districts in Paris? Surely not the authorities. My word holds more power than you’ll ever carry in one lifetime.”

“For everything you would threaten him with, I’ll bring back down on your head threefold. And then once I’m done, I’ll kill you.” Keith promised lowly.

“Oh, the little kitten has _claws_. Impressive, considering your current _situation_.” Sendak purred, working his arms out of the long jacket he wore. “We’ll have to adjust that before I have you working under the new management.”

He loomed above Keith, blocking out the light as he descended.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to InklingDancer and Cookie for creating the amazing art for this chapter!

_Never knew I could feel like this_

_Like I’ve never seen the sky before_

_Want to vanish inside your kiss_

_Every day I’m loving you more and more_

_Listen to my heart, can’t you hear it sing?_

_Come back to me_

_And forgive everything._

_Seasons may change_

_Winter to Spring_

_But I love you_

_Until the end of time._

The tears dripped down Keith’s nose as he penned the words, leaning over Hunk’s writing table as if it would stop his very soul from cracking into pieces. Outside, the low rumbling of thunder threatened an oncoming storm.

He loved Hunk. Loved him like nothing he’d ever known before. Like some great love story of the greats, like in books and historical texts. Loved him like he could conquer worlds and travel the seas just to see him smile.

Which was exactly why he had to do this.

_Hunk,_

_Of all the words I’ve said to you, I don’t think I love you has been the ones I’ve chosen to speak the most. So here is perhaps the last chance I have to write them, instead._

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

_I’ve loved you from the first time you kissed me under that overhang whilst we were taking cover from the rain and all we could do was laugh. Which is why you deserve to know the reasons I have to leave._

_I’m terrified._

_I’m terrified of the future that lies ahead of us. And I know that you have been nothing but kind and beautiful and gracious despite everything that I’ve kept from you and I must apologize because there is still more that I have been hiding._

_I am ill._

_It’s been since I was young, since before I began work at the Moulin Rouge. Something in my chest, though no doctor has yet been able to decidedly tell me what it could be. What many of them have agreed upon is that it is highly unlikely that I will live past thirty years. As it’s been past twenty, I have little doubt that that prediction will prove true._

The words he wrote were from his heart, flowing from pen to paper in his spidery handwriting. He knew that Hunk would be arriving back later in the evening, having been pulled into thorough rehearsals and a troupe dinner at one of the restaurants in the city. Which was why he had chosen to act now, rather than later.

_I do not truly want to leave you. You have given me some of the greatest treasures of my life._

_For so long I have shielded myself from the things I fear, always knowing that someday, one way or the other, it would end. Perhaps it stands to attest how much that I have changed, in falling in love with you. For so long, I feared that if I were to allow myself to be open with people, to allow them into my life, that they would leave me. That or my time would end and I would simply not wake after one of my spells._

_I need you to know that you are not safe._

_Sendak-_

Shakily exhaling, he looked down at the ring on his finger. The one that signified their eternal love, that bound them until death took them both. It represented exactly what Hunk meant to him, and what he would do to keep him safe at any cost.

_Sendak is watching you. He will hurt you, and I cannot bear to stand by and watch it happen when I can do what I can to protect you in my own way. Please do not be angry, and please be careful. If it means taking anything that we have and making a run for it, then so be it. If you are able, do not attend the opening night at the Moulin Rouge. If he were to see us, I can only imagine what would happen, and I would not subject you to what I might do because of it._

_If anything happens to me, there is a box under the floorboard by the window. Within it is all the coin you could need to start a new life elsewhere. I pray that you never have to use it, and that all of this will be for naught, but let it be said that I am a shrewd man, and I will not take risk in these matters._

_I love you._

_I’m sorry._

_Keith_

Pressing a chaste kiss to the metal, he pulled it from his hand, tucking it within the folded sheets and praying the ink was dry enough it would not stain or smudge. He knew Hunk wouldn’t miss it- he always turned to the typewriter when he arrived home now.

Sendak all but owned the Moulin Rouge now. Any authority that Lotor once had was essentially just for show. It was like a dark, cloying smog had descended upon the walls and seeped into the soul of all who stepped through the doors. Everyone had something to lose, and Sendak was ruthless in pulling out whatever card he had to play to manipulate every dancer, troupe member or crew who were working on the grandest show France- or the world- had ever seen.

Following Keith, he had continued through the ranks, combing for blackmail on anyone and everyone he could to trap them in the palm of his hand.

Not everyone had something to lose, mind.

Shiro had lost his family the day he’d told them he loved men. And while he and Lance and Matt were tangled in some kind of triangle, none of the trio were loose-lipped or close enough that anyone would say anything otherwise.

Narti was on her own, blind and mute and loyal to a fault. Likely she would stay as long as the other ladies and Lotor did, whether by choice or by force. Ezor and Zethrid were hardly quiet about their relationship, but as with Narti, they were loyal to Lotor and the Moulin Rouge. Axca much the same, and Lotor unable to do anything to prevent Sendak. Whatever the duke had managed to find on him, no one yet knew, but it had to be something severe if Sendak hadn’t had him killed or arrested.

Keith?

Well, Keith had everything to lose, now.

His new marriage was something Sendak wasted no time in delving into the moment he’d caught wind of the news. Keith didn’t wear his ring to the Moulin Rouge, unwilling to risk the attention it would bring. But he had heard of it, or at least with the supposed tail Keith had been saddled with, he’d been clever enough to figure it out.

But it wasn’t the only reason that he seemed to have taken interest in him. Surely it had to have some reason to do with refusing to live in the pretty ivory tower serving as a cage. A reminder that his life wasn’t really his own- banished to the outer courtyard. He wasn’t a pretty blushing flower, either, unwilling to hide his face with the first sign of attention. The furthest thing from it, actually.

But he did have his weaknesses.

_“You’ll be following the arrangement of the original contract addressed by the Moulin Rouge.” Sendak sneered, glass eye rolling in its socket. The papers he held in his hands were shuffled to reveal Keith’s signature; when he had been young and desperate and fresh off the street. No sign of the severance papers that he had signed not so long ago before Lotor. “Including residing in the quarters you were assigned as delegated by the contract and not leaving the grounds unless granted permission by the current owner and manager of the Moulin Rouge- myself.”_

_That bit had not actually been on the original contract, but it seemed as though Sendak had found a away around that somehow._

_Lotor, banished to the corner of the room, watched stonily. His features were frigid, eyes blazing with a fire that would have put any demon of Hell to shame, Keith was certain. But even he could say nothing. What could he do, with Sendak’s iron fist closing ever tighter with each dancer that had been brought into the room?_

_“And remember,” Sendak smiled, all bared teeth and sinister shadow, “You try anything and your dear love just might meet an…_ unfortunate _… end. I advise behaving for the grandest show the Moulin Rouge has ever seen. “Spectacular, Spectacular”.”_

* * *

The theatre had been completed several days ago.

The troupe had been in in full force, attempting last minute rehearsals, fittings and collaborations with those working backstage; including a pale faced Hunk who wouldn’t look in Keith’s direction. Or so he hoped. Keith couldn’t muster up enough courage to look in Hunk’s direction, every nerve on high alert and feeling like he was being watched. With how everything was, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was.

Hunk was wearing the yellow scarf that Keith had given him as a gift, the faint scent lingering on it from when Keith had last borrowed it to run out and get them some pastries from the bakery a street over.

Keith looked tired. Thinner than usual, despite it only being just shy of several days of him disappearing. Like the weight of the world had perched itself on his shoulders and settled there.

It was like a shadow had fallen over the newly christened theatre. Like everyone was wearing painted masks instead of their true feelings.

It was the last rehearsal. The riggers, the costumers, the dancers- every one of them were present as they went through the motions, Keith poised in the center of it all like a marionette. Refused to bow beneath it as he stared Sendak down, his features set in stone.

He would get his performance, but Keith would not be the pretty little thing that Sendak wanted to see.

Keith _hated_ it.

Hated it even as he allowed himself to be forced into the extravagant costume for a final fitting, his features stony in the mirror he was reflected in. Ignored the bruising around his throat as he clasped a feathered piece around his throat to disguise it, pulling the long black gloves to his elbows and feeling like he was dressing himself for a funeral rather than a performance. The biggest the Moulin Rouge had ever seen.

The _last_ that the Moulin Rouge might see.

He prayed that Hunk would not come, prayed that he would. Would give anything to be wrapped into the warm safety only Hunk’s presence could provide, a balm to a burn he didn’t know was licking across his flesh.

The hours ticked by, Shiro slipping into his room at one point or another to gather his dark docks up into the most elaborate hair style that he’d ever done. Neither of them said a word, but Shiro’s gentle touch to his shoulder told Keith everything that he needed to know.

Narti and Kova joined him for the last hour as he finished painting his face. It felt more like war paint now than it ever had before; bright, bold crimsons offset by black and white. Kova rubbed against his hand as he perched on the edge of the dressing table, Keith’s hands shaking as he ran his fingers down the feline’s shoulders- fighting to hold the tears at bay.

He twisted his hand into Narti’s and sat there for a while, the woman gently brushing his hair out of his face with her feather light touch. And if he slipped a small vial into her hand, she didn’t make a sound. Just leaned over and pressed an equally light touch of her lips to his forehead before gathering Kova into her arms and left.

When the call finally came to take their places, he strapped his knife to his calf and straightened. The dark grey veil that they’d added to the costume made him feel more like a twisted mockery of a wedding he was walking into than a show.

The walk to the stage felt longer than it ever had before. Every dancer parted before him like he carried the plague- maybe he did. Maybe that was the damned reason that everything that had happened to him thus far had occurred.

Sendak wanted Le Chat Noir for the grandest performance of their time.

Keith would give them all a show they would _never_ forget.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

“You want your _whore_? Very well- then take her!” the ‘Sultan’ spat, dramatically throwing the courtesan- Keith- to the ground.

He crumpled to the stage; tears very real in his eyes.

It was reliving a punishment that Sendak had devised. Everything that Keith held close to his chest replayed as a sick version of a show- one that he knew Hunk had not written. Hunk’s work had been light and playful and so heart-wrenchingly true to life that it had made Keith cry the first time that he had read the manuscript.

This was a mockery that Sendak had rewritten after their _encounter_ in that damned storage closet. Something much darker and bitter than the tale of two lovers overcoming everything that had been thrown their way.

Dialogue flew back and forth over Keith’s head as he tried to pull his rattling, cracked pieces together for just a little longer. Just a little further until the intermission, and then he would finish this once and for all.

He rose to his feet as someone grabbed his arm, tugging him toward the edge of the stage and realizing that his part in the scene must have concluded. Matt was waiting, looking worried as he carefully sat Keith down, checking him over as his shoulders trembled.

“He didn’t come.” Matt whispered. “You did everything that you could.”

“But was it enough?” Keith whispered back. “Did I save him or sentence him, Matt?”

Matt said nothing, wrapping Keith in an embrace that wasn’t the one he wanted but what he needed in the moment, letting him shiver against the dark thoughts that intruded in on his consciousness.

They stayed that way until Shiro came running off stage in preparation for the next scene between them, eyes too soft as he offered Keith a hand to get back to his feet.

“The intermission is after this scene. Can you make it until then?”

“I have to.” He replied, hollow.

-

Hunk had left as quickly as he was able following the final rehearsal, trying not to linger on how haunted Keith had looked. How tired and world worn he was despite it barely being several days since he had disappeared to the Moulin Rouge.

The letter he’d written was tucked in his pocket, the pair of rings he had on a band around his neck. He didn’t want to make whatever was going on worse by wearing his ring, nor make Keith feel any guiltier for trying to keep him safe.

He was not happy about the hiding things for his own good part of the letter, and he was feeling a few things regarding reading that Keith had some kind of illness and had hidden it from him for so long. But he could understand why- Keith was a naturally private person. That he’d come so far since meeting Hunk was a testament to how much he was willing to give up.

Which was why he wasn’t about to let Keith deal with this on his own.

Hunk wasn’t an idiot- he realized full well the kind of danger he was walking into. The sheer number of times that Keith had tried to warn him away, the number of times that he had come home looking like he’d seen ghosts-

It told a story that Hunk wasn’t sure he wanted to see the ending to.

He went in the back door. Keith had shown it to him one night after rehearsal, not feeling like going through the rest of the dancers while tugging Hunk along beside him. Tonight, however, he almost immediately ran into Matt, who froze like he’d been shot before grabbing him and hauling him into a dark corner.

“What are you doing here!?” Matt hissed into his face. “Do you _realize_ what you’re doing?”

“I’m not leaving Keith to deal with whatever’s going on on his own!” Hunk hissed back.

“Oh my god, you two are perfect for each other.” Matt muttered, shaking his head for a moment. “You’re an idiot, Hunk. You even _being_ here right now is enough to get either of you killed. Do you understand that? Sendak has it out for Keith, but he’s also gunning for _you_.”

“Keith left me a letter.” Hunk nodded. “I know enough to know that I’m not about to let him do this to himself.”

Matt snarled something wordless under his breath and looked like he wanted to hit something desperately.

“Keith has it figured out. You need to get out of here before-“

“Before what, Monsieur Holt?” a rumble of a voice interrupted, both of them jumping. Matt looked like a cornered animal; eyes wide behind his glasses as he took a step back.

“Ah.” Sendak continued as he caught sight of Hunk. “I was truly beginning to wonder if you would find it in yourself to join us for this evening, Monsieur Garrett. Come- it is quite the show your lover has been giving us this evening.”

A heavy hand latched onto his arm; glass eye alarmingly close as he leaned over to whisper something into Matt’s ear. By the looks of it, whatever he had said was enough for Matt to turn a ghostly pallor before he retreated, lips pressed tightly together.

“Come,” Sendak said, deceptively jovial. “I believe we still have some time before the intermission to find a seat.”

-

“We have a problem.” Matt hissed into Shiro’s ear. “Hunk is here and Sendak’s already gotten to him. They’re sitting in the front row.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean what I mean!” Matt nearly shrieked. Thankfully, the orchestra from beneath the stage drowned it out, but Shiro looked stricken. “If we don’t do something, someone’s going to end up dead, and I’m pretty sure that Keith is going to be one of them!” 

“Narti-“

“We haven’t seen her since before the show. If she isn’t dead already, Sendak’s already dealt with her. Shiro, we have to _do_ _something_.” 

Shiro grunted something, good hand going to his face and rubbing the bridge of his nose. This would have played out in ways that they had already suspected if Hunk hadn’t made an appearance, but they probably should have known better than to assume that Keith wouldn’t have rubbed off on him somehow. Which meant that they were going to have to do some quick thinking in order to make sure that no one died under their watch. 

“The intermission is in five minutes. Can you rig something up?”

“What are you thinking?” 

Wordlessly, Shiro pointed up, at the discarded swing that had been installed years ago for Le Chat Noir’s earlier performances. 

“Yeah. Yes. I think I can manage something.” 

Shiro caught him in a quick grasp, kissing him fiercely. Something tight in his chest told him that something bad was going to happen, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to go out without kissing one of the men of his dreams. 

“Good luck.”

“How am I supposed to fail with motivation like that?” Matt wheezed breathily, a little starstruck. “Don’t you dare do that to Lance before I get a chance to!” 

“I make no promises!” 

Matt vanished around the corner, headed for the stairs. Shiro prayed it wouldn’t be the last time that he saw him. 

-

It was one thing to know that Keith was Le Chat Noir. It was another thing entirely to see him in full costume and makeup and dominating the stage with his presence. The warbling songbird voice that carried over the music as he stared defiantly over the crowd, the lights illuminating everything to see in his face. A convincing woman to the extent that if Hunk didn’t know what that face looked like in every way, he’d say it _was_ a woman standing on the stage.

Hunk could tell the exact moment that Keith saw him.

The spotlights moved away from him as they moved to center stage for another character, Keith’s gaze falling on Sendak and by extension Hunk. The façade cracked as he stared wide eyed at him, mouthing his name before one of the other dancers crowded him into the scene.

Horror.

Keith had been horrified to see him.

“I see the little kitten noticed you came to see him. Well, isn’t that just sweet.” Sendak chuckled, one arm slung deceptively around his shoulders. “He went through so much trouble to try and keep you safe, you know. Such a shame that it all went to waste.”

Hunk mutinously kept silent. Anxiety coiled at his limbs, but he kept his head held high in case Keith looked toward them again. He wasn’t about to let him go alone. Even if the situation was, in all fairness, completely and absolutely terrifying.

The intermission came too slowly.

Thunderous applause followed the cast as the curtains closed for the break, the higher-class folk who had been persuaded to attend beginning to chat amongst themselves, some getting to their feet to stretch. Sendak rose to his feet, Hunk still close, and smiled and nodded to those seated around them like it was nothing. Hunk wanted to say something, to warn those around him, but the sharp end of a knife was digging into his ribs.

“Let us go and congratulate the lead on their wonderful performance for the first half of the show.” Sendak suggested, tugging Hunk along like he’d had a choice in the matter. His eyes scanned the crowd around them, hoping to find a glimpse of a friendly face, but it seemed he’d walked right into the spider’s web.

Just when he thought there was nothing, he caught a glimpse of Lotor’s hair as he vanished around a corner the wall opposite. If memory served correctly, the hall connected to the back stage area.

Maybe he still stood a chance in hell after all.

The back halls were bustling with dancers and costumes being run around, the activity a flurry of color and noise that Hunk wasn’t used to. Not in the scale that it was now. No one met Hunk or Sendak’s gaze as they passed, the noise dulling to a whisper until they had made it further down, their destination as of yet unknown.

“I need a word with your charming kitten, you see.” Sendak began conversationally. “He keeps trying to stir up trouble before I can quell him down, and I’ve had quite enough of it. So, you and I are going to have a word with him.”

One involved with sharp objects all around, Hunk silently noted. The only question was who would be stabbing who.

“Ah, Le Chat Noir. How kind of you to leave the door open for us.” Sendak greeted, jerking Hunk out of the way as a knife narrowly missed Hunk’s jaw. “Careful now- you wouldn’t want anything to happen to your dearly beloved now, would you?”

“Let him go, Sendak.” Keith snapped, brandishing his dagger with a grace that suggested he had had years of practice with it. He likely had, considering that he’d lived on the street for so long. Not to mention all of the stories Keith had reluctantly given up about inappropriate behaviours from guests at the Moulin Rouge in the past.

“I think not. You see, I believe you were sending one of Lotor’s pretty little things to have a look around my office before the show. A shame that I had to deal away with her- she would have made someone a very happy man.” The man clicked his tongue.

“That room isn’t yours and never will be.” Keith snarled, pretty features twisting into a feral grimace. “Everyone here knows it.”

“But no one will dare lift a finger lest they want to lose something precious to them. Something like your husband here. I know I told you the consequences of your actions, Kitten.”

The grasp around Hunk’s arm tightened. He knew that he would have marks if the man were to let go. The knife dug further into his ribs, the tip of it beginning to draw blood. Hunk could feel it in the dampness around the stinging. Keith could tell too, his gaze dropping and a low growl leaving his throat.

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“No, but it will be yours when I have to do something about it. Do cheer up for the second half of the show. I would hate to have to motivate you by doing something rash.” Sendak purred. “And thank you for the lovely bottle of whisky earlier- it was divine.”

“ _Also_ not for you.” Keith bit out. Hunk caught a gleam of something in his gaze. “It was a gift.”

“Likely from that disgustingly loyal Matthew Holt. Or perhaps your guardian angel, Le Chat Blanc. He’s been putting up quite the show as well this evening. I _do_ hope his lovers enjoy the finale.”

“I’m afraid _you_ won’t be making it to the finale, Duke.” Another voice said smoothly from behind them. Lotor looked pleased, smug even, as he twirled around a pistol in his hand. “You see, I’ve rather had enough of you trying to usurp me.”

“Trying? I have _succeeded_ , princeling.” Sendak barked a laugh. “You have nothing to your name- even the deed to the Moulin Rouge is mine!”

“Is it now?” Lotor asked curiously, that same pleased smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Perhaps your vision is failing you, Sendak. You never _signed_ the papers to the Moulin Rouge; clever forgeries dictating nonsense were all that you managed to get a hold of. Unfortunately, you were a step ahead of me in Keith’s severance contract, but even so, I have retrieved it. As we speak, my father’s personal forces are moving to Paris to collect you. Or rather, whatever is left of you once everyone here has had a moment to… air their grievances, shall we say.”

Sendak growled, mood shifting in an instant as he dug the blade in his hand further into Hunk’s side. He could feel the blood beginning to drip down his hip but refused to look down, already feeling nauseous. Keith knew full well how bad Hunk was around wounds, particularly ones that involved blood in any capacity. It made him nauseous to think about and faint if he happened to look.

“You come one step closer and I’ll gut him.” The duke snarled. “I have nothing to gain by keeping him alive.”

“Your life, perhaps.” Lotor considered, shrugging a shoulder carelessly. “Regardless of what happens to Monsieur Garrett, I can assure you that you will not make it out of the Moulin Rouge alive. Call it a dying wish by my father- I happened to have a very interesting conversation with him by letter. You two were not _friends_. You attempted to usurp him as a commander whilst you served together and when it didn’t work, you decided that one day you would strike back and take something that he cared about. What you failed to consider was that this place has no meaning to my father. It was a means to fill his pockets whilst he wastes away in sickness. But to me? This place has _immeasurable_ value. And I will not stand to see it crumble because of _you_.”

The pistol rested firmly in Lotor’s grip now, the click of the gears the only sound in the room. Even the hall had died down, the last vestiges of the troupe, dancers and the like preparing themselves for the second act of the show. It was like, for a pristine moment, that time had stopped.

And then Hunk jerked his head back into Sendak’s nose, descending the room into chaos.

Keith lunged at the same moment that Sendak jerked the blade against Hunk’s side, jerking out of the way and landing heavily against the wardrobe next to the door as Lotor and Sendak grappled. Hunk already knew it was serious, immediately feeling light headed as Keith dropped to his knees next to him, the crimson of the gown oddly contrasting with the wetness of his blood.

“You’re okay.” Keith soothed, hands going to his side, relief clear in his gaze as Lotor and Sendak tumbled out of the dressing room into the hall. “It’s not too bad, Hunk. It’s just the flesh. Let me wrap it up and get you out of here.”

“I wasn’t about to let you go down without telling you that you’re a fool, Keith.” He grunted, wincing as Keith applied pressure, tugging insistently at the hem of his gown before making a noise of triumph as it tore. “And you and I are going to have a _very_ long conversation before we move out to the country and live out our days.”

“I love you.” Keith laughed; the sound infectious despite the circumstances. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” Hunk replied. “But I am also quite cross with you, and I am going to make sure that my rather lovely husband knows of it in great detail.”

“I look forward to it.”

They managed to get Hunk back on his feet; other than a few nicks and cuts from landing against the wardrobe (and the rather obvious injury that neither of them were going to mention) Hunk was unscathed, and Keith was righteously furious but no worse for wear himself.

His dagger was held firmly in his grasp as they exited the room, Keith’s head on a swivel as he surveyed the damage to the stands and gouges in the wall. There was no sign of Sendak and Lotor, however- the pair both heaved a sigh of relief at that.

“Oh, I _really_ wouldn’t advise that.” A low voice growled as they started for the stairs to take them up to the ground level of the theatre.

It seemed as though Sendak had managed to incapacitate Lotor, though the duke had definitely not come out of the encounter unscathed. His glass eye was missing, several long claw marks down his cheek, as well as several bloodied gashes that looked like they might have been caused by a blade. Above all, he was absolutely wild. If he could, Hunk didn’t doubt for a second that he would have been foaming at the mouth as he pointed Lotor’s pistol directly at them.

“I thought I might make this easy.” Sendak spit. “I so loathe getting my hands dirty these days. Supposed to be part of a civil society and all that, you see. But I never quite saw eye to eye with many who told me I was wrong. The only question is which one of you am I going to shoot first? The wolf or the lamb?”

“How about you let us walk out of here, lest I have to cut out your remaining eye, Sendak?” Keith promised darkly. “I warned you what I would do if you hurt Hunk.”

“You? What could you do?” Sendak grinned, baring his teeth. “You flaunt yourself with Death so casually- let us see whether you fear it.”

Keith tried to push Hunk out of the way, but without even realizing it, he’d been trapped. Hunk’s hands, usually so gentle, were vices as he dragged Keith into his chest, shielding him before he realized that the gun went off, the bang thunderous in his ears.

_“I love you.”_

He might have been screaming, but no noise was reaching him through the haze of panic that descended. He grasped at Hunk’s arms as he swayed and fell to his knees, following him to the floor as he went for his face, gripping his cheeks between his palms and pleading with him to stay with him.

It was too late. He could see it in the stillness that followed, the unearthly silence that fell around him like a shroud. How Hunk’s gaze was fixed not on some distant horizon but Keith, his lips twisted into a soft smile even as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

He could feel it like an ancient rattling in his bones, as he caught a glimpse of the glimmer of metal in his open shirt, the bands that promised the rest of their lives mocking him. Heard it in the wheeze of laughter that left him in the wake of it, choking on it as he rose to his feet like the wrath of an old god woken from restless slumber. It flared to life with embers that felt like holes to his very soul as he pulled himself together with the barest semblance of control and stalked toward Sendak.

“You know,” he drawled, “those things are only good for _one_ shot, Sendak.”

He could only imagine what Sendak saw as Keith came toward him. A grieving man, or a vengeance-bound demon clad in a dress red as blood?

Sendak was trained in warfare, but it seemed he had never dealt with someone who, regardless of that knowledge, still decided to follow through. Keith slashed down the second he was able, knocking the gun from the man’s grip and drawing first blood. He ducked the blow that followed, aimed for his head, following the man as he began retreating, the beginnings of fear stirring in his remaining eye.

“You took something that should never have been taken from me, Sendak.” He chuckled, picking up the pace as the man scrambled back, looking for somewhere to hide. “You took the single thing that meant anything to me. You know what that means?”

He lunged, catching the him by surprise as they went down into the floor, a floorboard cracking beneath their combined weight. Before Sendak could stop him, Keith plunged the blade down into his chest, leaning over to whisper in his ear, just like he had done so many times before.

“It means _I_ have nothing left to lose.”

Sendak gurgled once, twice, limbs spasming in an aborted attempt to drag the weapon from himself, before falling limp. His remaining eye stared sightlessly at the ceiling as Keith slid off of the body, feeling like a puppet with one too many strings been cut as he staggered back to Hunk.

Keith had never considered himself much of a religious man, but as he turned Hunk onto his back and gently closed his eyes, he indulged himself a moment to send a prayer that if there were a God- Hunk deserved everything that Heaven had to offer.

A strangled sob left him as the sound of footsteps carried down the stairs, leaning over Hunk to press his lips to his one last time.

_“Oh my god.”_

Zethrid and Ezor were the first to arrive, Ezor’s hand flying to her mouth as she took in the sight before her. Zethrid pushed her back toward the stairs with some softly spoken words, tone firm as she carefully approached Keith’s prone form. She took in the blood that trailed from Keith’s skirts, the equally dark red that pooled beneath the prone man he was curled over protectively, her chest aching as she crouched next to him.

“He’s gone.” Keith whispered brokenly, sobs shaking his frame.

“He loved you, Keith.” She said, tone gentle as she touched his shoulder. “He loved you very, very much.”

“Why did he do it?” Keith continued. “He would have lived a long, happy life. I was the one who was supposed to die- _I was the one who was supposed to die_.”

“I don’t know.” The larger woman replied, carefully gathering the small, fragile man into her arms. “But I do know he would never have let you get hurt.”

Shiro and Matt arrived, the doctors in tow, before they realized the situation that they found themselves in. Lotor had managed to drag himself out of the bowels of the underground dressing rooms, bloodied and wounded but alive, and sounded the alarm. But it seemed that even then, it hadn’t been enough.

Hunk was dead.

_Hunk was dead._


	12. Behind the Scenes: Blooper

It was a gloomy day, in a sort of beak sunlight through the clouds way. The rain of the evening had passed, leaving behind a mixed bag of weather. Something not unlike the events going on beneath the sky.

The casket was simple- dark hewn wood, suspended next to the hole in the ground where the body within would be laid to rest.

“I can’t do this.”

Keith was elegant in his dark waistcoat and pants, forgoing the black that Shiro and most of the others in their group had worn instead. Hunk’s ring rested around his neck- he would be returning it to his husband’s hand before he went into the ground, but until then he had deemed himself its protector. His ring was on his hand, the metal gleaming dully under the daylight.

“What do you mean?” Pidge asked, her slacks and shirt a muted olive green. Her eyes were still red with the remnants of her tears trailing down her cheeks. The rest of the group were in similar states, all of them but Keith watching silently at the scene before them.

“I can’t do this when he’s making _that_ face at me.” Keith repeated, groaning as a strangled noise came from the casket where Hunk was _supposed_ to be lying peacefully in death. Instead, he was making a face not unlike when one licks a lemon, features pinched in concentration.

“I’m sorry!” he finally blurted, jolting upright. “It’s just- the script says open casket but every time Keith leans over me I’m trying not to comfort him and I don’t know what to do!”

“So you laugh at me?” Keith smacked his forehead tiredly. “We’re never going to get this scene at this rate.”

“It’s not my fault _someone_ wrote Hunk’s death into the script.” Hunk narrowed his eyes, leaning around Keith to stare accusingly at their director. Coran looked, for the most part, completely unrepentant, sipping his cup of tea from the obnoxiously large mug that he’d graduated to over the course of filming “Moulin Rouge”.

Allura, one of the producers, also shot a glance at Coran.

“Yes, I’m still not sure why that happened either.” She drawled in her thick British accent. Her thick white-blond hair had gradually been pulled out of its pristine high tail over the course of the last several hours, the cameras constantly on rewind to try and catch the elusive scene they sought.

“For the dramatic whirlwind, of course!” Coran protested hotly, gesturing wildly with his mug and almost bludgeoning an innocent boom mike operator in the process. “The viewers would never guess that at the very end, when all seemed like it was going right, that Hunk would be the one to take the bullet for Keith!”

Everyone stared at him blankly.

They all knew what the script had told them to do. The funeral scene was one that had brought all of them to tears, Hunk most of all. It had been a last-minute change that had replaced Keith’s death for one that would bring about far more heart wrenching tears.

Except that it had worked too well. The entire cast had been floored by Keith’s final performance as the emotional wreck version of Le Chat Noir, the footage of the scene painting a slow-motion picture of an avenging angel come to Earth for vengeance. Even Sendak had slow clapped it out in the viewing room.

The funeral was to tie up the loose ends. Keith was to retreat to the country with the savings that had been meant for himself and his husband, bringing with him the typewriter and their shared belongings and living a quiet life with his friends coming to visit every now and again.

Given that Hunk and Keith had begun dating very early into filming, the funeral scene had been causing the cast the most trouble. Allura looked like she was one more botched scene from throttling Coran, Pidge was beginning to sniffle from the pain of putting her crocodile tears on display, and even Shiro was beginning to wilt- his prosthetic that had been designed for filming wasn’t as comfortable as his usual one, and it began to ache after too long wearing it.

“Can I hug my boyfriend before he starts crying for real?” Hunk called, seeing the emotional distress on Keith’s face as he looked at the casket again. “I think we’re starting to get existential.”

“Of course. Take five, everyone. Coran, go get some tea.” Allura cut in before the eccentric Australian could say anything. “Do what you need to, Hunk.”

Pidge darted in to give Keith a quick hug, grabbing Lance by the ear and dragging him off before the lanky man could start anything as the other man moved in. (Everyone loved Lance, but the guy could easily put his foot in his mouth without intending to. Even if he was trying to comfort one of his friends.)

“Hey.” Hunk hushed as Keith silently stepped into his chest, shoulders tight and refusing to look at the casket next to his boyfriend. “Hey, I’m okay.”

“But what if you weren’t?” Keith replied, voice muffled as he burrowed into Hunk’s chest, arms slinking around his waist. “What if none of this was pretend and something _did_ happen to you?”

“Aw, Keith.” Hunk sighed, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t think like that. I’m okay. And after we get this scene we’re going to go get ice cream with the rest of the crew and we won’t ever have to look at it if you don’t want.”

“Even the premiere.”

“ _Especially_ the premiere.” Hunk promised, pulling back to stare the other man in the eye. “Please don’t cry- I’ll make another face at you and ruin the shot.”

“Don’t you dare.” He growled half heartedly. “We’re running out of daylight and I don’t want to have to come back here and shoot again.”

“I guess so. But only because my awesome boyfriend told me so.” Hunk sing-songed. It was enough to earn a snort and a brief smile from Keith, so he would call it a win. “And you know, if you really don’t like the ending… Pidge could always write fanfiction about it?”

The pair stared at one another for a long moment before a simultaneous shiver ran down their spines.

“No, no, I think we’re good without whatever concoction Pidge would come up with.” Keith shook his head, features twisted at the possibilities. He knew Pidge too well and knew exactly what kind of things she would write if only given the nod of approval.

It could never happen.

“Yeah, nope, you’re right. I don’t know why that came out of my mouth.” Hunk looked a little nauseated himself. “We never tell Pidge.”

“Agreed.”

Keith sighed, relaxing against Hunk’s side for a moment as one of the costumers appeared, followed by Coran and a flustered Allura.

“Well, back to work.” He frowned.

“Hey, we’ll get it.” Hunk promised. “I love you.”

“Love you too, dork.” Keith smirked, chest loosening at the beaming grin Hunk shot his way a moment later.

He might not have gotten a happy ending in the movie, but who was to say what the future held?

_And so, they lived Gaily Ever After. Because the Moulin Rouge script sucked and ruined everyone’s lives by killing off the fan favourite, and this viewer cannot take it, no sir. So they lived gay and happy until the end of their days because I freaking say so, Lance._

_The End._


End file.
